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: DRUG PUSHING What luck! You've found a bottle of medication...only, oh, it looks like it's a prescription for one of the other people trapped here with you. You have a lot of power in your hands now: you could do the right thing and give it back without a fight, demand a worthy trade to see how badly they want it, or auction it off to the highest bidder. They're not the only ones who could use a painkiller or an antidepressant, after all. If you don't need it for yourself, you're sure to be able to fetch a high price (or bank some high gratitude points) for it from someone.
TWO: CHECK YOUR RECEIPTS After a long day of traveling, you reach into your bag to scrounge up some dinner but you find that all of your food has gone bad. Everything, including the rations you stocked up on just yesterday, is covered in a thick layer of mold. Even the packaged nonperishables are somehow spoiled. Your whole backpack reeks of rot, and nothing edible has been spared. Maybe you can restock tomorrow, but what if you're not the only one whose food has been tainted? And what about the meal you had for lunch just hours ago? Your stomach turns. You'd better take to the network to get to the bottom of this
Action Prompts
THREE: WRITING ON THE WALL You've just settled into a building for the night with your traveling companion when you notice a message left somewhere on one of the walls. It's signed by a username you don't recall ever seeing before. It tells you discoveries and facts about the town you don't think are really real or should be followed. Tells you that they're heading in a direction they're convinced has the exit, and urge you to follow their lead. One of you thinks it's worth consideration. After all, why would anyone leave a message like this if they didn't mean it? But there are risks involved in chasing the assertions. Do you have the resources left to try?
FOUR: CORPSE PARTY Just before lockdown, you and your traveling companion are about to seek shelter in the nearest building when you spot a huddled figure nearly buried in the snow. When you get a little closer, you see that it's a person wrapped tightly in a blanket. Neither of you recognizes them, but you can't be sure; the blanket covers their face. They seem to have succumbed to the elements, but it looks like they're still breathing! You manage to drag them into the building with you with seconds to spare. Good job, you've saved somebody's life! But, as you pull apart the blankets to check on your new companion, you realize that they're not a "somebody" at all... And you're locked in with it until morning.
It's Lutha. I'd prefer we don't get into the kiddish nicknames, alright?
Hold on.
[There's a pause, the feed silent as the teen slaps a privacy filter on and fumbles with the tablet. Messing with this awful contraption was inconvenient at best when one only has one of their hands, but he's not so stupid as to leave the audio on and let someone hear that awkward mess.
When the feed turns back on, it's to a careful arrangement of items - three different sizes of knives, a fireplace poker that's obviously been sharpened recently, and three or four prescription bottles, all of which have the drug names printed in clear, if not somewhat flourished, handwriting. Everything is surprisingly clean and arranged meticulously. He's very obviously done this sort of thing before.
Lutha keeps himself out of view, though the camera stays on to let Charles have a good long look.]
One weapon for three full days of rations. Your call on the medicine, but I'd prefer you don't clean me out entirely.
[Wow, rude. He calls everyone younger than him "kid". He assumes Lutha is younger, anyway. No visual on the actual person behind the voice. Suspicious, but whatever.]
That poker looks useful. I've got plenty of knives. [That sentence is pulling dual duty as a threat- don't try anything.] How sharp is it?
[Not an unfair assumption. From his voice alone, he can't be any younger than his mid teens, while still lacking the depth and dryness of range that might mark an older man.
Charles will get a glimpse of fiery red hair as Lutha leans into the view, only the back of his head and the extension of his right arm visible while he picks up the poker to bring it closer to where the tablet rests to give Charles a better look at the tip. Not quiet blacksmith-worthy sharp, but enough to draw blood without much effort, and cleaned almost religiously to boot.]
Forgive me for not bleeding for the customer, but I'll assume you've got good enough judgement.
[Yeah, that'll do. It shows him how sharp the poker is, but also how... strangely tidy.]
Looks good to me. [A pause.] Awful shiny though. You kill something with it already? [He's not adverse to taking your cleaned-off murder weapons, Lutha, just so long as it doesn't wind up being blamed on him.]
[It's dry with annoyance, bristling at how it hits a particularly sore spot for him now. Could someone kill someone with this thing? Probably. Could he do it, though? Out of pure luck and nothing less. He already aches for the grip of his pistol back in his hand instead of the mismatch of objects he only blindly knows how to use.]
Three days rations, no less. Do we have a deal or not?
[That, in turn, isn't a joke. He hasn't murdered anyone, after all, and he'd like to think he has more to offer for trade and bribe with than is worth killing him over in a pinch.]
A half a day out, if that. I can meet you midway somewhere, but a drop off is out of the question. [He doesn't want someone just picking this shit up, and he especially doesn't want to starve.]
Yeah, drop off's no good for me, either. We can meet in the graveyard.
[He prefers to be the one to pick the place, even if it hardly matters. Still, the graveyard's nice and open, but with some amount of cover should this kid be up to some kind of trick.]
[He's not trying to hide anything, and he's definitely not going to act scared of this guy, so: he turns on video. As usual, he has a habit of holding the tablet a little closer to his left side than his right.]
And I'm guessing I'm supposed to just recognize you from the back of your head?
Same color all the way around, smartass. I'm not hard to spot.
[And the scars littering his entire body are a sour point that he's more used to dealing with in person rather than having someone stare via magic or whatever else actually ran these tablet devices. But, details.]
[He assumes. Probably. There was that Luna lady, right? And Natasha? Except he would never mistake either of those for this guy, oops, but whatever, not the point.]
But whatever, unless you've got a mask or something, I'm going to see you eventually.
[Good, he's not making a fuss about it. One less thing to worry about.]
Fine. I'll meet you there.
[The graveyard isn't too far from him at all right now, and he can easily make it to shelter should this cyclops of a man not decide to show up.
The red hair will, indeed, give him away immediately against the snowy backdrop of the graveyard. He stands only slightly shorter than Charles, shoulders huddled tight and hands (or what's left of them) shoved into his pockets with a thick, striped length of orange fabric wrapped around his mouth and neck. Even though the snowfall is light, the boy carries an aura of distinct discomfort, as though he were out standing in a thunderstorm instead. The poker is strapped to his back.]
[There's only one dude standing in the graveyard, so that's gotta be this guy. "Ordo" whatever that means, if that's even his name or what. "Makeme" definitely isn't Charles' name.
It helps that his hair is, in fact, red, but more importantly there's only one. So probably not some kind of weird ambush. Probably.
Charles approaches from behind, but noisily as best he can- doesn't want the guy to flip his shit thinking he's sneaking up on him, but also doesn't want the awkwardness of slowly coming toward someone who can see you from afar. As always, he's got the hatchet in hand, but it's not in any kind of aggressive position. He hefts it over his shoulder as he reaches talking distance.]
Alright, let's do this. You're the guy with the poker? I'm the guy with the food.
[Despite how noisy his company tries to be, the redhead doesn't appear to react or even acknowledge the presence of another until Charles starts speaking.
His body language instantly strings tight, nearly stumbling over a nearby tombstone as he twists around and pulls out one of the knives from his belt. Dark eyes glare at him from overtop his makeshift scarf, only slightly dying down when he sees who it really it is. Clouded eye and all, huh.
The fuck was he thinking.]
Try that again and I'll shove this straight through your ribs. [It's a barking enough tone even with how muffled it is by the fabric.]
[Charles raises an eyebrow when Lutha stiffens, and he keeps it up.]
Yep, that's a great way to start off this transaction. By threatening to kill someone. Who you know nothing about, and is also holding an axe. [He lets the hatchet fall from his shoulder. It looks like a gesture merely meant to save his arm from the brunt of the weight, but it's just in case.]
Not my fault you're unobservant as hell, dude. I was makin' all kinds of noise over here.
[Sass isn't that hard to ignore, but his comment about his noise level does get the boy to bristle, visibly attempting to hide it.]
You're the one who decided sneaking up was a good option.
Don't do it again.
[He doesn't lower the knife, his left hand still firmly hidden. He's aware just how much of a disadvantage he's at here, but he's got far too much pride to show his disabilities upfront. Get the stranger's weapon out of the equation, and this might work a little better.]
[Yet again, no answer, only a flicker of his eyes to the axe as a response before going right back to glaring a huge hole through Charles himself. He's the paranoid one? Really, though, the idea of being armed to the teeth like this isn't surprising. Getting stabbed for a loaf of bread wasn't exactly uncommon back home, after all.
He lets the silence sit for a long moment, his voice just as demanding as before.]
[And with reluctance, out comes the other hand. Rather, the complete lack of one, fabric of his jacket tucked and knotted closed midway up his forearm.
[Sigh. Fine, okay. He feels a little bad about being mean to the one-handed kid. And if he tries anything, Charles has several of his own knives close at hand. So, there.
He takes a step to his left and leans the hatchet against a tombstone, then steps back to where he started.]
[Like clockwork, the knife is immediately dropped down into the snowdrift at Lutha's feet, his hand moving up to tuck a thumb against his scarf and pull it down off his face. A clearer voice might settle things, and... well, might as well get all the pitying shocks out of the way, given how this promptly exposes the twisting web of scars framing his face.]
Right. [The field's a little more level now, and the more frantic bite of his voice dissipates in favor of bluntness. Maybe they could get back to business and keep the bloodshed to a minimum.
Speaking of which, though...]
You wanted to know how sharp the poker was, right?
[Well, alright, looks like this dude's had a rough time, either here or wherever he's from. Might explain some of his paranoia. Charles can relate. But that doesn't mean he's cool with everything.]
[With that, he shimmies the poker further up his back, appropriately point-up but not leaving its position, before he meticulously pulls his lone glove off with his teeth. The scarring on his hand is just as bad if not worse than what's on his face, but he doesn't pause for the sake of shame, instead promptly reaching behind him and slashing his palm across the poker's tip. Not deep, because what point would that prove? No, it's a glancing blow, enough to touch and slice a clean line of red that drips from the flesh of his hand as he holds it out for Charles to see.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
snowblindmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindmemes2016-08-14 08:47 pm
HELLO yes this is luna-mun :3c been wanting to bring this guy in for a while
It's Lutha. I'd prefer we don't get into the kiddish nicknames, alright?
Hold on.
[There's a pause, the feed silent as the teen slaps a privacy filter on and fumbles with the tablet. Messing with this awful contraption was inconvenient at best when one only has one of their hands, but he's not so stupid as to leave the audio on and let someone hear that awkward mess.
When the feed turns back on, it's to a careful arrangement of items - three different sizes of knives, a fireplace poker that's obviously been sharpened recently, and three or four prescription bottles, all of which have the drug names printed in clear, if not somewhat flourished, handwriting. Everything is surprisingly clean and arranged meticulously. He's very obviously done this sort of thing before.
Lutha keeps himself out of view, though the camera stays on to let Charles have a good long look.]
One weapon for three full days of rations. Your call on the medicine, but I'd prefer you don't clean me out entirely.
uses the icon you drew in a thread with you
That poker looks useful. I've got plenty of knives. [That sentence is pulling dual duty as a threat- don't try anything.] How sharp is it?
iconception
Charles will get a glimpse of fiery red hair as Lutha leans into the view, only the back of his head and the extension of his right arm visible while he picks up the poker to bring it closer to where the tablet rests to give Charles a better look at the tip. Not quiet blacksmith-worthy sharp, but enough to draw blood without much effort, and cleaned almost religiously to boot.]
Forgive me for not bleeding for the customer, but I'll assume you've got good enough judgement.
no subject
Looks good to me. [A pause.] Awful shiny though. You kill something with it already? [He's not adverse to taking your cleaned-off murder weapons, Lutha, just so long as it doesn't wind up being blamed on him.]
no subject
[It's dry with annoyance, bristling at how it hits a particularly sore spot for him now. Could someone kill someone with this thing? Probably. Could he do it, though? Out of pure luck and nothing less. He already aches for the grip of his pistol back in his hand instead of the mismatch of objects he only blindly knows how to use.]
Three days rations, no less. Do we have a deal or not?
no subject
Sure thing. But I'm keeping this conversation in case anyone comes looking for whoever had that last. [It's mostly a joke. Or is it?]
How far are you from the chapel?
did u see my link for his voice range
[That, in turn, isn't a joke. He hasn't murdered anyone, after all, and he'd like to think he has more to offer for trade and bribe with than is worth killing him over in a pinch.]
A half a day out, if that. I can meet you midway somewhere, but a drop off is out of the question. [He doesn't want someone just picking this shit up, and he especially doesn't want to starve.]
no subject
[He prefers to be the one to pick the place, even if it hardly matters. Still, the graveyard's nice and open, but with some amount of cover should this kid be up to some kind of trick.]
no subject
[And then, without much pause:]
Turn on your video. I'm not handing this off to some random passerby.
audio -> video
[He's not trying to hide anything, and he's definitely not going to act scared of this guy, so: he turns on video. As usual, he has a habit of holding the tablet a little closer to his left side than his right.]
And I'm guessing I'm supposed to just recognize you from the back of your head?
no subject
[And the scars littering his entire body are a sour point that he's more used to dealing with in person rather than having someone stare via magic or whatever else actually ran these tablet devices. But, details.]
no subject
[He assumes. Probably. There was that Luna lady, right? And Natasha? Except he would never mistake either of those for this guy, oops, but whatever, not the point.]
But whatever, unless you've got a mask or something, I'm going to see you eventually.
video >> action
Fine. I'll meet you there.
[The graveyard isn't too far from him at all right now, and he can easily make it to shelter should this cyclops of a man not decide to show up.
The red hair will, indeed, give him away immediately against the snowy backdrop of the graveyard. He stands only slightly shorter than Charles, shoulders huddled tight and hands (or what's left of them) shoved into his pockets with a thick, striped length of orange fabric wrapped around his mouth and neck. Even though the snowfall is light, the boy carries an aura of distinct discomfort, as though he were out standing in a thunderstorm instead. The poker is strapped to his back.]
action!
It helps that his hair is, in fact, red, but more importantly there's only one. So probably not some kind of weird ambush. Probably.
Charles approaches from behind, but noisily as best he can- doesn't want the guy to flip his shit thinking he's sneaking up on him, but also doesn't want the awkwardness of slowly coming toward someone who can see you from afar. As always, he's got the hatchet in hand, but it's not in any kind of aggressive position. He hefts it over his shoulder as he reaches talking distance.]
Alright, let's do this. You're the guy with the poker? I'm the guy with the food.
no subject
His body language instantly strings tight, nearly stumbling over a nearby tombstone as he twists around and pulls out one of the knives from his belt. Dark eyes glare at him from overtop his makeshift scarf, only slightly dying down when he sees who it really it is. Clouded eye and all, huh.
The fuck was he thinking.]
Try that again and I'll shove this straight through your ribs. [It's a barking enough tone even with how muffled it is by the fabric.]
no subject
Yep, that's a great way to start off this transaction. By threatening to kill someone. Who you know nothing about, and is also holding an axe. [He lets the hatchet fall from his shoulder. It looks like a gesture merely meant to save his arm from the brunt of the weight, but it's just in case.]
Not my fault you're unobservant as hell, dude. I was makin' all kinds of noise over here.
no subject
You're the one who decided sneaking up was a good option.
Don't do it again.
[He doesn't lower the knife, his left hand still firmly hidden. He's aware just how much of a disadvantage he's at here, but he's got far too much pride to show his disabilities upfront. Get the stranger's weapon out of the equation, and this might work a little better.]
no subject
Don't give me orders. I wasn't "sneaking" in the first place. You paranoid, or what?
[Not that he has any right to judge right now.]
no subject
He lets the silence sit for a long moment, his voice just as demanding as before.]
Let go, and I'll drop the knife.
no subject
Really? Dude. How the hell do I know you don't have another one in your other hand?
[It'd be a pretty damn obvious setup, but who knows? This guy didn't even turn around, he might not be the best at strategy.]
no subject
He gestures once more towards the axe.]
no subject
He takes a step to his left and leans the hatchet against a tombstone, then steps back to where he started.]
Your turn.
no subject
Right. [The field's a little more level now, and the more frantic bite of his voice dissipates in favor of bluntness. Maybe they could get back to business and keep the bloodshed to a minimum.
Speaking of which, though...]
You wanted to know how sharp the poker was, right?
no subject
That's not some kinda new threat, is it?
no subject
Who's the paranoid one here again?
Hold on.
[With that, he shimmies the poker further up his back, appropriately point-up but not leaving its position, before he meticulously pulls his lone glove off with his teeth. The scarring on his hand is just as bad if not worse than what's on his face, but he doesn't pause for the sake of shame, instead promptly reaching behind him and slashing his palm across the poker's tip. Not deep, because what point would that prove? No, it's a glancing blow, enough to touch and slice a clean line of red that drips from the flesh of his hand as he holds it out for Charles to see.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)