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.
Sylar put his arms back down in an exaggerated shrug. "And I might get sent back 'home', where your useful little laptop is, and where you won't be," he replied. His grin was gone, and his eyes were sharp and challenging. Would this caring young son actually go through with something as dark as murder? Sylar doubted it.
"No one knows how any of this works. And even if we had some sort of proof, it could all be a lie- because the machines in our systems are making us hallucinate. Right? Maybe they've just convinced me I'm Sylar, and I've never done any of those things. We don't know." He looked to the side, realizing that got a bit off track. "So while you're freezing your ass off here, I could be well on my way to- what was his name? Dale? That's who we were headed to first, right?"
Mohinder's hand tightened on the blade handle of the long steak knife. Nothing Sylar said was inherently wrong. Nothing he said could be reconciled with truth though either. Mohinder stared at the edge of the blade as if trying to see if he could divine his destiny from his own distorted reflection.
"If this is fifty years into the future, you're not getting home. If this is some other, alternate timeline, you're not getting home. If this is just some projected reality into a body of an innocent... Well that is a philosophical question. Is the person still innocent? Does the body matter? What does the sinning? Hand or mind?"
He slid the drawer closed. The knife stayed in his hand.
"If you aren't really here and I'm hallucinating, it's too late. If you find a way home before I do, it's too late. If you find a way to claim the abilities of all those here and I do not stop you, I am responsible for their deaths."
Mohinder could probably talk for days. It might feel to Sylar as if he had been already.
"If... If I weigh out all of the options there is truly only one choice," he said and then lunged.
It was, in fact, an interesting philosophical question, and Sylar was about to launch into a discussion when he caught the look in Mohinder's eyes. Really? Sylar's eyebrows rose. Really, this soft-hearted man was even thinking about stabbing him? If he went through with it, Sylar'd be impressed.
Considering the fact that Sylar's reflexes didn't quite get him out of the way in time, he did in fact spend some time being impressed as he stared at the hole in his coat. It started seeping blood after a long moment, and that was when the pain kicked in.
Sylar's yelling was not particularly dignified. But he was surprised, okay? He twisted away as quickly as he could manage, and just tried to achieve some distance. Ah, if only he'd thought to grab his tablet, so he could record this part for later. "News flash, Mohinder: I can't take abilities here. My power is gone. I have no reason to kill anybody here." He coughed out a gasp as his wounded side hit the counter he was moving around. "But you do, huh?," he croaked. "Fine, let's get it over with."
He wouldn't hold still, because he couldn't just let himself die. But it probably wasn't going to be too hard to reach him. The stab wound was slowing him down further, and he honestly wasn't much of a physical fighter. At the moment, he seem more invested in not getting hit in the neck than he did with not dying at all. He wanted to have a voice till the end, after all.
Mohinder just wasn't a monster. The fight bad washed out of him the moment he had gotten blood on his hands and he dropped the knife between them, mostly out of shock for what he had managed to accomplish. Eyes wide, he glanced down at his hands and retreated.
Sylar was right. He didn't have the stomach for this. Unfortunately, Sylar did. In two ways. If he had gotten the American deeply enough, he could very well spend the next hour or so bleeding out as spilled stomach acid made the pain borderline unbearable. He hadn't prepared for that either.
Mohinder had the passion for revenge but not the follow through.
Sylar watched with dismay as the knife fell from Mohinder's hands. "That was it?!" he yelled, with such volume that it actually hurt his stomach wound. It was becoming clear that this was...not a good, clean stab. It felt like his entire stomach was falling apart, in searing flashes of white hot pain. Sylar sank to the floor, dabbing at the wound with his gloved hand. "You're just going to gut me and leave me to die, bleeding out on the floor. Oh, you are so much crueler than I expected. Thoughtless, just like your father."
He grunted with pain as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position. There was none. He was painfully cold. "Is it still murder if you drag it out for long enough, do you think?" he asked, his voice weakening.
"You deserve worse." There was little to no fire behind the words. "So much worse." It was like he was trying to convince himself of that fact as the dark spot on Sylar's coat grew. Mohinder drew up his knees. He thought that revenge would be more satisfying. He thought it would wash away the hurt. He and Chandra had never been close. Mohinder would have liked them to be but his father was more motivated by his work than anything else. If he had known why, if he had moved to follow in his footsteps earlier, maybe this all could have been prevented.
Mohinder didn't have any of the answers. He had had a man who had been his friend ten minutes ago and his enemy all along bleeding out on the floor in a house he was locked inside of.
"It's still murder," he whispered. If-- When Sylar died of this wound, if he returned to life in the morgue, Mohinder wasn't sure what he'd do. All he knew was that he wanted tonight to be over. He wanted to be alone. And he could never trust anyone again.
Mohinder was about to find out that Sylar would take an infuriatingly long time to die. People with more determination had tried before. He'd always bounced back- and while he doubted he was going to bounce back this time, he was going to make the most of it.
But the pain made him more honest, distracting him as it was. "Feels awful, doesn't it?," he asked weakly, leaning back against the stove he'd been so annoyed with earlier. "You try to make amends, move on. And then you find out no one wants you for anything but murder. You're good at it. So you don't have..." He coughed, wincing. And while it sounded wet and painful, he was also emphasizing it for the sake of drama. "...anything else."
Sylar’s slurred words were upsetting, not because he was so close to death, but because they made Mohinder angrier. “No one wants you for murder.” He’s pretty sure of that. People don’t go around looking for other people to go around cutting people’s heads open. This wasn’t a book or a made for television movie. These things didn’t happen in real life. Mohinder could barely feel his nose and he tucked his whole head inside of the ring of not-quite warmth provided by his coat and his position.
Couldn’t Sylar just…pass? Why was he lingering? Was it just to spite him? How many more hours until sunlight would come anyway? It had grown dark before the seven o’clock lock down so he was looking at another twelve, maybe thirteen hours?
Longer?
“You didn’t have to be this. You have every chance to be something and someone else. We could have really gone around to warn and help people. Like you. Like Zane. You could have changed at any time and you didn’t! No one will ever feel sorry for you, Sylar.”
Sylar did a lot of things out of spite. Staying alive was probably one of them. That gross cough/laugh that came out of him sure sounded spiteful.
"Every chance, huh? You sound like that pretty girl who came into my shop when I was trying to kill myself. You know, after the first time. She 'saved' me from my fate. Except she was part of some organization that wanted to see how I took Brian's ability."
He spat out that last line, looking down at the ground where his blood had finally reached the floor. Too bad about this coat. He wondered if it'd still have the hole when he woke up again. "Damn, Mohinder. This really hurts," he said, his voice increasingly weak. He seemed to have used up most of his fight already, and his body was starting to feel numb. "You couldn't have stabbed me somewhere else?"
He hadn't been planning on responding but now, Mohinder's curiosity was piqued. He lifted his head, searching out Sylar in the near dark. Without their tablets, seeing at night was possible only with the windows open, scant moonlight bouncing off of fresh snow to make the occupants at least partially visible. Mohinder wet his lips. Bad idea. They seemed to instantly chap.
"You tried to kill your self? Is that why you covered that back room--"
Yeah. Sorry. He went snooping in your apartment in Queens. He'd been really curious about the crazy that caused someone to make something like that when the rest of the apartment was obsessively neat.
Sylar's eyes narrowed at the question. But that was as far as he got before everything seemed to rapidly become harder and further away. Mohinder's shadow swam in his vision, and he closed his eyes to try and counter the nausea.
His breathing hitched a couple times, and then seemed to even out. Or stop. One of those.
Sorry, Mohinder. This conversation was just going to have to continue sometime later.
"Sylar...?" Mohinder whispered the name and the question that was conveyed with it. He waited for a response and when it did not come, he whispered the name again.
It took half an hour for him to crawl his way towards the body. He found Sylar's eyelids slightly open and he closed them gently before he checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
He spent the remainder of the night with two dead bodies and just before the dawn struck, he worked at the doors until the kitchen spit him out.
He would go it alone, taking Sylar's pack with him.
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snowblindmemes2016-08-14 08:47 pm
no subject
"No one knows how any of this works. And even if we had some sort of proof, it could all be a lie- because the machines in our systems are making us hallucinate. Right? Maybe they've just convinced me I'm Sylar, and I've never done any of those things. We don't know." He looked to the side, realizing that got a bit off track. "So while you're freezing your ass off here, I could be well on my way to- what was his name? Dale? That's who we were headed to first, right?"
no subject
Mohinder's hand tightened on the blade handle of the long steak knife. Nothing Sylar said was inherently wrong. Nothing he said could be reconciled with truth though either. Mohinder stared at the edge of the blade as if trying to see if he could divine his destiny from his own distorted reflection.
"If this is fifty years into the future, you're not getting home. If this is some other, alternate timeline, you're not getting home. If this is just some projected reality into a body of an innocent... Well that is a philosophical question. Is the person still innocent? Does the body matter? What does the sinning? Hand or mind?"
He slid the drawer closed. The knife stayed in his hand.
"If you aren't really here and I'm hallucinating, it's too late. If you find a way home before I do, it's too late. If you find a way to claim the abilities of all those here and I do not stop you, I am responsible for their deaths."
Mohinder could probably talk for days. It might feel to Sylar as if he had been already.
"If... If I weigh out all of the options there is truly only one choice," he said and then lunged.
no subject
Considering the fact that Sylar's reflexes didn't quite get him out of the way in time, he did in fact spend some time being impressed as he stared at the hole in his coat. It started seeping blood after a long moment, and that was when the pain kicked in.
Sylar's yelling was not particularly dignified. But he was surprised, okay? He twisted away as quickly as he could manage, and just tried to achieve some distance. Ah, if only he'd thought to grab his tablet, so he could record this part for later. "News flash, Mohinder: I can't take abilities here. My power is gone. I have no reason to kill anybody here." He coughed out a gasp as his wounded side hit the counter he was moving around. "But you do, huh?," he croaked. "Fine, let's get it over with."
He wouldn't hold still, because he couldn't just let himself die. But it probably wasn't going to be too hard to reach him. The stab wound was slowing him down further, and he honestly wasn't much of a physical fighter. At the moment, he seem more invested in not getting hit in the neck than he did with not dying at all. He wanted to have a voice till the end, after all.
no subject
Sylar was right. He didn't have the stomach for this. Unfortunately, Sylar did. In two ways. If he had gotten the American deeply enough, he could very well spend the next hour or so bleeding out as spilled stomach acid made the pain borderline unbearable. He hadn't prepared for that either.
Mohinder had the passion for revenge but not the follow through.
He cursed lightly in Tamil, hands shaking.
no subject
He grunted with pain as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position. There was none. He was painfully cold. "Is it still murder if you drag it out for long enough, do you think?" he asked, his voice weakening.
no subject
Mohinder didn't have any of the answers. He had had a man who had been his friend ten minutes ago and his enemy all along bleeding out on the floor in a house he was locked inside of.
"It's still murder," he whispered. If-- When Sylar died of this wound, if he returned to life in the morgue, Mohinder wasn't sure what he'd do. All he knew was that he wanted tonight to be over. He wanted to be alone. And he could never trust anyone again.
no subject
But the pain made him more honest, distracting him as it was. "Feels awful, doesn't it?," he asked weakly, leaning back against the stove he'd been so annoyed with earlier. "You try to make amends, move on. And then you find out no one wants you for anything but murder. You're good at it. So you don't have..." He coughed, wincing. And while it sounded wet and painful, he was also emphasizing it for the sake of drama. "...anything else."
no subject
Sylar’s slurred words were upsetting, not because he was so close to death, but because they made Mohinder angrier. “No one wants you for murder.” He’s pretty sure of that. People don’t go around looking for other people to go around cutting people’s heads open. This wasn’t a book or a made for television movie. These things didn’t happen in real life. Mohinder could barely feel his nose and he tucked his whole head inside of the ring of not-quite warmth provided by his coat and his position.
Couldn’t Sylar just…pass? Why was he lingering? Was it just to spite him? How many more hours until sunlight would come anyway? It had grown dark before the seven o’clock lock down so he was looking at another twelve, maybe thirteen hours?
Longer?
“You didn’t have to be this. You have every chance to be something and someone else. We could have really gone around to warn and help people. Like you. Like Zane. You could have changed at any time and you didn’t! No one will ever feel sorry for you, Sylar.”
no subject
"Every chance, huh? You sound like that pretty girl who came into my shop when I was trying to kill myself. You know, after the first time. She 'saved' me from my fate. Except she was part of some organization that wanted to see how I took Brian's ability."
He spat out that last line, looking down at the ground where his blood had finally reached the floor. Too bad about this coat. He wondered if it'd still have the hole when he woke up again. "Damn, Mohinder. This really hurts," he said, his voice increasingly weak. He seemed to have used up most of his fight already, and his body was starting to feel numb. "You couldn't have stabbed me somewhere else?"
no subject
"You tried to kill your self? Is that why you covered that back room--"
Yeah. Sorry. He went snooping in your apartment in Queens. He'd been really curious about the crazy that caused someone to make something like that when the rest of the apartment was obsessively neat.
no subject
His breathing hitched a couple times, and then seemed to even out. Or stop. One of those.
Sorry, Mohinder. This conversation was just going to have to continue sometime later.
no subject
"Sylar...?" Mohinder whispered the name and the question that was conveyed with it. He waited for a response and when it did not come, he whispered the name again.
It took half an hour for him to crawl his way towards the body. He found Sylar's eyelids slightly open and he closed them gently before he checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
He spent the remainder of the night with two dead bodies and just before the dawn struck, he worked at the doors until the kitchen spit him out.
He would go it alone, taking Sylar's pack with him.