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: BUMP IN THE NIGHT It's dark out, and congratulations - you're inside! What's not inside, you might ask? Monsters. Shadowy monsters that have surrounded whatever house you've taken shelter in. They can't get in... or can they? From time to time, the doors and the walls creak as if under an unbearable pressure.
Who can sleep when it's like this? Maybe you should take to the network to find a distraction. Or maybe someone has advice for getting rid of those things.
TWO: BRING OUT YOUR DEAD We mourn the loss of those who have died in the time between the last announcement and this one:
...is that your name on that list? It might be. Maybe you should let the others know you're not actually dead. Or, you know, if you happen to spot the name of someone you know and love on there, it might be time to ask around and see if anyone knows what happened to your dearly departed...
Action Prompts
THREE: KYRIE ELEISON You've found yourself in a small chapel, complete with bolted-down pews, an altar devoid of symbols, and stained glass windows depicting various saints. It's quiet... one might even say dead quiet. Which is a really awful pun to be making, considering if you follow the stairs down to the basement you'll find a morgue.
Explore to your heart's content, but you'll be forced out at 7 PM. Hopefully you don't find any unfortunately familiar faces among the dead.
FOUR: LIGHTS OUT Against all odds, you've managed to make it to shelter for the night. You pull the door shut behind you and turn to look at your surroundings - and that's when you see it. A ... person. Is it a person? It's hard to tell, because a moment later, you're plunged into darkness.
...better hope that's another unfortunate visitor to Norfinbury you've been locked in with, and not something more threatening.
[ the id will read "@onyakomtrikru", not because she set it that way, but because she didn't understand what the fresh hell this thing was until about twenty minutes after she'd been tapping at the screen with increasing frustration (tapping more on the side of punching by the latter part of that twenty minutes). tablets weren't a thing anya's people had in the forests they made their home. shelter, clothing, weapons, hunger. death by exposure, survival of the fittest, moving to keep yourself alive - all these things anya understand perfectly well.
texting, however, is not on that list.
as such, when she manages to open the menu for broadcasting a transmission, and a keyboard pops up at the bottom of her screen, it's really more a moment of... experimental pecking. ] gedpok' TRKIJD''-0', [ yeah, no, that's not gonna happen. soon enough, she finds the video function, and what can be seen is a woman with severe eyes, and features near entirely caked with mud, looming over the screen, illuminated by the dim backlight, as her once blond hair hangs in dirty clumps around the camera. ]
You're neither Sky People or Mountain Men. Where are you from, and why are you here? [ getting straight to the point. what she means is 'we', why are we here, but that's not a word that anya likes to use. off to the side of the tablet, there's the token 'bump in the night' sounding beyond the walls of the abandoned house anya's camped in for the night. no part of her face shifts, no twitch of expression, but her eyes do coldly slide to the source. ] And who has weapons?
[B] ACTION; ANYA'S COLD.
[ perhaps you've made it into a building to rest and warm up for the moment, or perhaps you're adjusting your gear. maybe you happened upon some new loot and you're deciding if you want to keep what you have or trade out. whatever ends up off of your person for the moment, set aside, be it a shirt, a pair of shoes, a blanket, and especially if it's a coat, it'll soon be sneaking off on it's own.
or, rather, with the help of a woman largely covered in mud and shivering, with very little on aside some rough cloth pants, the coat issued to all new arrivals, with nothing but some scraps of fabric and another worn leather coat that feels too small on her underneath. either way, it's not enough, when anya's spent her entire life in a fairly temperate forest, typically wearing furs and animal skins on top of this. so, don't mind her trying to sneak off with your shit while you happen to be busy.
and if you aren't the kind to turn attention away from your things, well, maybe you're getting thwacked with a stray branch before she goes trying to help you out of your stuff, if you're looking extra well-equipped. and aren't a child. (she's not so horrible she'd leave a child with less than they need to survive, okay, she's a dick but not that big of a dick). ]
[C] ACTION; ANYA'S CREEPY.
[ lights out. it's that one - the one where you've just barely found shelter, and turn to the room to see another figure already occupying the space before it all gets plunged into darkness. however, anya's not the one rushing in at this point. she'll have already been camped out, crouched into a corner of the room, so when her unfortunate companion for the night wanders in, the glimpse they'll be getting of the stranger hovering in the corner is this - all covered in rags, mud and blood, looking like something out of a horror film and likely glaring death at the intruder, before the shadows swallow everything.
a moment of silence settles, and maybe the creepy woman had just been some kind of messed up hallucination, for all the quiet there is. however, it breaks a second later, and her voice is gravely, rough and demanding. ]
Get out.
[D] CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
[ what it says on the tin - here there be wildcard option. ]
[ when clarke sees the id, she doesn't look twice. anya is dead, she tells herself. judging by the random string of letters, there's no one behind the id at all — it must be meant to terrorize her, as a punishment of some kind. it has to be. anya is dead. then her face appears on the screen, just as it had that day she'd tried to kill clarke. the day they decided on an alliance. the day her people killed anya. for a moment, she doesn't know how to react — she's been told stories of others supposedly coming back from the dead, but this is the first time she's seen it with her own eyes. clarke fears whatever procedure the admin uses to revive them; nothing in life comes for free, so they must come back wrong.
a reply pops up from @cgriffin. the first second is only a sharp inhale, like she's suddenly forgotten what she meant to say. ]
Anya?
[ her voice is much smaller than she'd intended it to be. not once has she allowed someone to see her shaken here, convinced that pushing her feelings down and masking them with leadership was the best way to go, but now her voice is not much more than a whisper. she clears her throat and starts again, voice louder this time. ]
I— nobody, all our weapons have been taken. I've been using a golf club.
[ unmistakably. that was her last memory, before this place. lying on the earth with a wound ripped through her chest, clarke hovering over her, fretting, trying to reassure. she'd wanted to laugh at the time. comical, really, how certain anya was that this was the end, and how desperately clarke tried to tell her the opposite, as if anya couldn't feel the edges of her consciousness dimming.
apparently, she'd been wrong. given she's here now. and if clarke's here as well, that could only really mean the one thing. ]
Where did you take me? [ some anger flares at the edges of her typically blank, terse tone. she isn't unaware, however, that whatever clarke did this time, anya owes her her life yet again. ] This isn't my forest - how many days has it been?
[ how many days? clarke's face turns conflicted, like she's fighting an internal battle. and she is, really — how do you tell someone they're dead when they're right in front of you? ]
It's been a lot of days.
[ the mud is gone from her face, at least, but she looks nearly as disheveled as she had been last time anya saw her. her hair is wet and scraggly, her nose and ears an unflattering shade of red. clarke closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady her mind before continuing. ]
Anya, last time I saw you— [ she abruptly pauses, biting her lip. ] The last time I saw you, you were in critical condition.
[ it's not a lie, but it is a half-truth. it's too much to put on somebody at once; their arrival in norfinbury is disorienting enough. she knits her brow and frowns. ]
And I haven't taken you anywhere — we're in the same boat. We've both been kidnapped. I've been here for almost 3 weeks now.
[ three weeks wouldn't have been long enough to get them to first snow, at least, not a first snow this heavy. and even if that were true, there weren't any houses like this in the woods - anya's people having a different manner of construction, and typically built into the ruins from the old world.
her brow creases, and she straightens up some, prying the coat she woke up in open to dig for her scraps of clothing she'd had on underneath, looking under the torn leather of the too small, mud-caked jacket she'd worn, ripped open in one spot by the bullet that struck her. and the skin underneath... perfect. no scab, no healing wound, not even a scar. definitely not something that'd heal in the span of three weeks. ]
Kidnapped by who? Where were your people? [ the ones that shot me she wants to add on, with vitriol, but doesn't bother for the moment, more concerned with getting answers more relevant. ] What've you been doing for three weeks, Clarke? How many more died in the mountain while you sat here?
[ who likes to blame everything on clarke? anya likes to blame everything on clarke. ]
[ what've you been doing for three weeks, clarke? the words sting; she's been trying, trying so hard, and she's come up with nothing. clarke can't fix this. she can't fix anything, not without hurting too many people along the way. all she's done since leaving camp is run from her mistakes. every bad feeling that she's repressed for the last three weeks is bubbling at the surface, threatening to burst out of her. they're like white-hot magma, and she fears they'll leave burns that won't ever heal. ]
The Mountain Men are dead.
[ it comes out of her mouth unbidden, blurted quickly before she can stop it. anya's reprimanding makes anger rise in her chest, a tight, awful sensation; she wants to prove i did something. i tried, but she regrets it right after it's said. it's not a subject she wishes to discuss. ]
I irradiated Mount Weather. [ i, not we. no one is to blame for what happened except her. she alone carries the burden of taking so many lives. ] I was taken when I left camp afterwards.
[ her face is grim, her voice husky through gritted teeth. she ran because she wanted to forget what she did. now it's all catching up to her. bitterly, she adds, ] Your people got out before mine did.
[ well, it's bad enough that they're in this place to begin with, but when that face and name appears on the screen, Bellamy knows they're in trouble. if there are grounders here -- ones with a penchant for disliking anyone else? they have quite a bit more than the snow to worry about.
but there's a world of technology between him and her, and the last time he saw her with any clarity was through the sight of a gun. the id @augustus flickers onto the screen before it's Bellamy's face she sees. ]
You won't find any decent weapons here. Here we're all the same -- there are no Sky People, Grounders, Mountain Men. You're just like the rest of us.
[ he's not sure what to think, seeing her here. all he knows is that her people betrayed his, and it puts a rather bitter taste in his mouth. probably also not the time to mention that he is certain that, where he's from, he's been told she's dead. ]
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snowblindmemes2015-07-24 04:23 pm
Anya | The 100
[ the id will read "@onyakomtrikru", not because she set it that way, but because she didn't understand what the fresh hell this thing was until about twenty minutes after she'd been tapping at the screen with increasing frustration (tapping more on the side of punching by the latter part of that twenty minutes). tablets weren't a thing anya's people had in the forests they made their home. shelter, clothing, weapons, hunger. death by exposure, survival of the fittest, moving to keep yourself alive - all these things anya understand perfectly well.
texting, however, is not on that list.
as such, when she manages to open the menu for broadcasting a transmission, and a keyboard pops up at the bottom of her screen, it's really more a moment of... experimental pecking. ] gedpok' TRKIJD''-0', [ yeah, no, that's not gonna happen. soon enough, she finds the video function, and what can be seen is a woman with severe eyes, and features near entirely caked with mud, looming over the screen, illuminated by the dim backlight, as her once blond hair hangs in dirty clumps around the camera. ]
You're neither Sky People or Mountain Men. Where are you from, and why are you here? [ getting straight to the point. what she means is 'we', why are we here, but that's not a word that anya likes to use. off to the side of the tablet, there's the token 'bump in the night' sounding beyond the walls of the abandoned house anya's camped in for the night. no part of her face shifts, no twitch of expression, but her eyes do coldly slide to the source. ] And who has weapons?
[B] ACTION; ANYA'S COLD.
[ perhaps you've made it into a building to rest and warm up for the moment, or perhaps you're adjusting your gear. maybe you happened upon some new loot and you're deciding if you want to keep what you have or trade out. whatever ends up off of your person for the moment, set aside, be it a shirt, a pair of shoes, a blanket, and especially if it's a coat, it'll soon be sneaking off on it's own.
or, rather, with the help of a woman largely covered in mud and shivering, with very little on aside some rough cloth pants, the coat issued to all new arrivals, with nothing but some scraps of fabric and another worn leather coat that feels too small on her underneath. either way, it's not enough, when anya's spent her entire life in a fairly temperate forest, typically wearing furs and animal skins on top of this. so, don't mind her trying to sneak off with your shit while you happen to be busy.
and if you aren't the kind to turn attention away from your things, well, maybe you're getting thwacked with a stray branch before she goes trying to help you out of your stuff, if you're looking extra well-equipped. and aren't a child. (she's not so horrible she'd leave a child with less than they need to survive, okay, she's a dick but not that big of a dick). ]
[C] ACTION; ANYA'S CREEPY.
[ lights out. it's that one - the one where you've just barely found shelter, and turn to the room to see another figure already occupying the space before it all gets plunged into darkness. however, anya's not the one rushing in at this point. she'll have already been camped out, crouched into a corner of the room, so when her unfortunate companion for the night wanders in, the glimpse they'll be getting of the stranger hovering in the corner is this - all covered in rags, mud and blood, looking like something out of a horror film and likely glaring death at the intruder, before the shadows swallow everything.
a moment of silence settles, and maybe the creepy woman had just been some kind of messed up hallucination, for all the quiet there is. however, it breaks a second later, and her voice is gravely, rough and demanding. ]
Get out.
[D] CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
[ what it says on the tin - here there be wildcard option. ]
screams!! a
a reply pops up from @cgriffin. the first second is only a sharp inhale, like she's suddenly forgotten what she meant to say. ]
Anya?
[ her voice is much smaller than she'd intended it to be. not once has she allowed someone to see her shaken here, convinced that pushing her feelings down and masking them with leadership was the best way to go, but now her voice is not much more than a whisper. she clears her throat and starts again, voice louder this time. ]
I— nobody, all our weapons have been taken. I've been using a golf club.
8DDD hi bb hi
[ unmistakably. that was her last memory, before this place. lying on the earth with a wound ripped through her chest, clarke hovering over her, fretting, trying to reassure. she'd wanted to laugh at the time. comical, really, how certain anya was that this was the end, and how desperately clarke tried to tell her the opposite, as if anya couldn't feel the edges of her consciousness dimming.
apparently, she'd been wrong. given she's here now. and if clarke's here as well, that could only really mean the one thing. ]
Where did you take me? [ some anger flares at the edges of her typically blank, terse tone. she isn't unaware, however, that whatever clarke did this time, anya owes her her life yet again. ] This isn't my forest - how many days has it been?
[ also, wtf is golf ]
no subject
It's been a lot of days.
[ the mud is gone from her face, at least, but she looks nearly as disheveled as she had been last time anya saw her. her hair is wet and scraggly, her nose and ears an unflattering shade of red. clarke closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady her mind before continuing. ]
Anya, last time I saw you— [ she abruptly pauses, biting her lip. ] The last time I saw you, you were in critical condition.
[ it's not a lie, but it is a half-truth. it's too much to put on somebody at once; their arrival in norfinbury is disorienting enough. she knits her brow and frowns. ]
And I haven't taken you anywhere — we're in the same boat. We've both been kidnapped. I've been here for almost 3 weeks now.
no subject
her brow creases, and she straightens up some, prying the coat she woke up in open to dig for her scraps of clothing she'd had on underneath, looking under the torn leather of the too small, mud-caked jacket she'd worn, ripped open in one spot by the bullet that struck her. and the skin underneath... perfect. no scab, no healing wound, not even a scar. definitely not something that'd heal in the span of three weeks. ]
Kidnapped by who? Where were your people? [ the ones that shot me she wants to add on, with vitriol, but doesn't bother for the moment, more concerned with getting answers more relevant. ] What've you been doing for three weeks, Clarke? How many more died in the mountain while you sat here?
[ who likes to blame everything on clarke? anya likes to blame everything on clarke. ]
no subject
The Mountain Men are dead.
[ it comes out of her mouth unbidden, blurted quickly before she can stop it. anya's reprimanding makes anger rise in her chest, a tight, awful sensation; she wants to prove i did something. i tried, but she regrets it right after it's said. it's not a subject she wishes to discuss. ]
I irradiated Mount Weather. [ i, not we. no one is to blame for what happened except her. she alone carries the burden of taking so many lives. ] I was taken when I left camp afterwards.
[ her face is grim, her voice husky through gritted teeth. she ran because she wanted to forget what she did. now it's all catching up to her. bitterly, she adds, ] Your people got out before mine did.
a;
but there's a world of technology between him and her, and the last time he saw her with any clarity was through the sight of a gun. the id @augustus flickers onto the screen before it's Bellamy's face she sees. ]
You won't find any decent weapons here. Here we're all the same -- there are no Sky People, Grounders, Mountain Men. You're just like the rest of us.
[ he's not sure what to think, seeing her here. all he knows is that her people betrayed his, and it puts a rather bitter taste in his mouth. probably also not the time to mention that he is certain that, where he's from, he's been told she's dead. ]