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.
[ 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.
![[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)
snowblindmemes2015-07-24 04:23 pm
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.