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: PAINT BY NUMBERS You find yourself startled awake one night to a strange sound coming from your tablet. When you try to make it stop, the screen goes black. At first, everything seems fine when it turns back on. But then you realize that everything has taken on a grainy, pixelated nature. And it's not just the tablet itself, but the people who appear on video messages. The harder you look, the more the pixels take shape--and then you realize that everything is made up of tiny little numbers.
The longer you use your tablet, the more you're sure you see the numbers outside of the screen, as well.
TWO: I'M THINKING OF A NUMBER You wake up and find a number pops into your head. And suddenly, mysteriously, you can't stop thinking about that number. What was so important that it came to you? You find the number appearing before you in impossible situations. The objects and circumstances that surround you somehow lead to that number. And you feel the need to tell other people about your discoveries. How important this number, whatever the number is, has to be. Maybe you can make them all understand. Maybe they'll be able to help you figure out its significance. Maybe the number will lead you out of here.
Action Prompts
THREE: HAPPY PIE DAY You and your companion have found a bakery! It's an exciting place to choose to spend the night; not only is it a notably warm and cozy building full of useful tools...but you discover a smorgasbord of freshly baked pies laid out in welcome. How thoughtful! Clearly the spiders were generous with their last restock.
Unfortunately, when you slice into your first still-warm pie, your excitement quickly turns to horror...as each pie spurts and gushes with thick black blood.
FOUR: TAKE DOWN YOUR MEASUREMENTS The building that you and your traveling companion settle into for lockdown isn't particularly noteworthy. It looks normal from the outside, and looks normal on the inside, too. At least, at first. But something bothers you that keeps you from sleeping. Something off. It takes you awhile to figure out what it is--but then it hits you. It's the walls. The measurements. They don't make sense. None of it adds up. How can this house be standing? How can everything line up the way it does?
You have to figure it out, using whatever you can to collect the numbers and do the math. Maybe your companion wakes up on their own and finds you enthralled in your work, or maybe you wake them up yourselves to tell them your findings. Either way, you need them to see what you're seeing.
@queenbee69; text xperencing graphics issus w tablet: pxlation, img distortion, sml #s making up scrn imgs as in ascii art
others having this prblm? pls respond
3 HPY PI DAY
[ Fortunately for whoever happens to be traveling with him at the time, Sherlock is not so easily convinced by this apparent bounty. He knows there are places where fresh food appears through some unknown means (something he would very much like to investigate himself, should there ever be enough downtime in between other, more pressing matters) that doesn't mean this one or indeed any of the others should be regarded without caution.
He holds up a hand to tell his companion to wait a moment before charging in, a look of deep concentration on his face. No indication that any other people have passed through here recently, but the pies smell strong enough that they must have been removed from the oven and placed very recently. Or the pie crusts, more accurately. The scent of freshly baked pastry is genuine, but the notes of cooked fruit and sugar are distinctly artificial to his well-trained nose and laced with something unpleasant and metallic, almost undetectable beneath the rest.
Without a word, he stalks over to the counter, pulls a pencil from the pocket of his coat, and uses it to pry a portion of crust off one of the pies. ]
Eurgh. Somehow that's more unpleasant than I expected. [ While most people would be content to see that and conclude that the pies aren't worth eating, unfortunately for whoever happens to be traveling with Sherlock he is also insatiably curious and thorough.
Sherlock dips the eraser-end of his pencil into the goo and lifts it up to eye level to examine it. Black, viscous, opaque, warm from whatever oven these were cooked in and rapidly cooling. Definitely the source of the fake fruit smell and the metallic one, he concludes after sniffing at it. It smells like blood, but putting the color aside blood wouldn't have that consistency after being through the temperatures required to set a pie crust. So what is it? Why go to all the trouble of disguising it as a pie?
Rolling up his sleeve, Sherlock rubs the goo-covered pencil on the inside of his forearm, making sure to cover a patch of skin not already obscured by his tattoos. He then holds the pencil out towards the nearest person, a glob of the black substance hanging off the end. ]
Would you mind terribly if I swabbed some of this on your wrist? I want to see if it's contact-poisonous.
[John gives him a flat look. This is Not Sherlock, he's determined, but a Sherlock, and it sets his teeth on edge to a degree. Especially being separated from his friend and Mary.]
Reckon you can get that from the swab on yourself. I wouldn't recommend tasting it. Smells sort of like blood and the last bloke who drank some of that here came over sick.
Or I could determine that there's some component to these that I specifically have an immunity or tolerance to that others may not have, or vice versa. There's no way of knowing if I'm the only one who tries, that's just how sample sizes work. You've studied medicine, you know this. [ What's intended to be encouraging is probably just coming across as a little condescending. He's trying. ]
If this substance isn't dangerous then the pastry shells may well be salvageable. Probably unpleasant tasting, after being baked with this... stuff. [ Goo pencil is wiggled for emphasis ] But are we really in a position to turn down potential food sources just because they're unpleasant? Aren't you at all interested in finding out what this is and why someone's decided to make pies out of it?
[ Sherlock switches his tablet to audio so he can continue examining the room as he speaks. ]
Clearly you can, if you can decipher it well enough to make sarcastic quips in a dialect even further removed from standard modern English. Yours, however, manages to retain all of the cumbersome baggage of its conventions while introducing new and exciting inefficiencies - precisely the opposite of what I was attempting to accomplish though I suppose if you really are having difficulties with a few omitted vowels then the point is moot.
[ That said, he sounds much more amused than annoyed. ]
[ There's the not-so quiet sound of heavy hooves approaching, an old alarm system still not entirely without purpose. The building is small enough to where there wasn't exactly much distance to travel to get back to where those pies were, but a little wandering had remained quite firmly on the menu-- it was safe enough to where the distraction would likely not be as much of a problem, and therefore it was deemed acceptable. When the pencil comes back up covered in what is without a doubt blood, it's accompanied by an inquisitive rumble from somewhere off to Sherlock's left, close enough to perhaps be a little startling. ] [ The looming figure eventually speaks in a voice that just...frankly, sounds like it'd be more at home with an eldritch monstrosity, were it not for the manner of speaking. If at all possible, Wight would've looked at least somewhat perplexed, but that was a little hard, given his...lack of expression. As it was, he simply tilts his head and creeps a step or two closer, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to get a better look at the mess left in the pans. ]
It's...blood, dude. Weird, nasty? Yeah. Still some of that life-ooze. That's...not a thing people call it, is it. [ Another rumble, this time with a shrug to match. He clacks his jaws in a moment of half-pondered contemplation for the consequences, but Wight offers his wrist nonetheless, careful to curl his claws inward just in case of any potential mishaps. Whatever this stuff could do, he's probably had worse, so-- why not. ] Lay it on me. I can handle it. [ His gaze flicks down to the swatch of black on Sherlock's arm, and the sight gives him pause. ] Probably could've done that instead of. Also...on yourself? I don't mind getting, uh. Poisoned, you said? But you're-- squishy. Might do you differently.
I don't doubt that it has blood in it, but nothing I know of bleeds a substance that would naturally reach this consistency on its own. [ Sherlock taps the side of the pie tin. Its contents jiggle unsettlingly, like a horrible chunky blood jello. ] Nevermind the artificial cherry aroma.
And most of the people here are "squishy" like myself - therefore seeing what this substance does or doesn't do to me is more likely to turn up useful results. Revolting blood-based concoction or not, it may have some unexpected properties. [ His best bet is it isn't meant to do anything other than be off-putting, but if someone went to all this trouble to disguise it as a pie then there may be something more to it. ] Of course, if you're volunteering I'm certainly not going to complain about the opportunity to find out what effects it might have on - what is it that you are, exactly?
[ Some might consider it a rude question, but it bears asking. Not every day a person wakes up in a ghost town under mysterious circumstances and finds themself speaking to a gigantic skull-faced being. ]
@littlebird; text So, ah, sweetness, is the way you choose to express yourself in writing a consequence of the glitches you're experiencing or are you only semi-literate? The device you're using isn't like a telegram, you don't have to be stingy with letters for the sake of penny-pinching or for the sake of brevity and the conservation of space. You can write full words! You really can, darling, I believe in you—
That aside, maybe moisture got into the inner workings of the tablet? There is, if you somehow haven't noticed, rather a lot of snow around here. And when snow melts, it can get into electronics and cause ... ah, problems.
traditional grammar is a construct invented by old men wishing to prevent those who didnt share their specific cultural background from entering serious academia and personally i choose to embrace the evolution and democratization of language but if you insist
moisture alone wouldnt cause this problem the glitching is too specific discoloration or distortion alone would be expected not replacement with another character set
[Ecks puzzles over this for a while. She's always been adept at linguistic challenges, so the text dialect itself is manageable. Many of the terms, however, are unfamiliar.]
i dnt ndrstand what is graphics, pxlation, img? who r ascii?
@littlebird; text Well, darlings, this is something of an embuggerance, nu? If anyone here has a sensible explanation of what I am doing here, I'd love to hear it—and please, do give me some credit and don't try to talk down to me. Unless, ah, some of the more unconventional branches of physics are involved, in which case, do feel free to talk to me like I'm five.
B
[ A jaunty figure in a long, neon pink fur coat sits on the front porch of a building, smoking a cigarette through a five-inch ivory holder. He's a dark-skinned man; his eyes are a phosphorescing, vivid kind of blue; long ears, pointy and clearly more mobile than an average human's, poke from under a tall fur hat of the kind you might've seen on a boyar in Russia in times of Ivan the Terrible. What's visible of his face—he has wound a fluffy scarf around the lower half—sports shimmering make-up. His eyes glitter with something like mischief, something almost like good cheer.
Seeing someone approach, he raises a dainty hand and waves. ]
Oh, darling! Finally, some company. I was driving myself rather mad, all on my own with my thoughts! Do come here ... I have cigarettes and, ah— well, if you're companionable, I've got something that might be vodka. What do you say? Keep an old queen company?
You've been summoned across the universe by a device or ritual that seems to have been made with the purpose of forcing those it traps into repeating the events leading up to its construction. It is still unclear what these events were, but they involved a prophet by the name of Samantha Stevens and the cult that formed around her, the "artificial intelligences" that were constructed to maintain this town, and an act of war that rendered the area poisonous to all life except for us.
Our immunity and yours is granted by small machines that also serve to suppress any abilities that would be considered unnatural in this world.
... I've been summoned? That's preposterous, I've been very careful about my true name. I'm quite sure nobody's hijacked it lately. In fact, I know nobody has, it's only written down in one place and I've got that in my pocket, properly sealed with the Sixfold Seal and everything.
And it was written down in invisible ink, according to tradition. And before you insinuate that the rebbe who was present at the naming ritual blabbed, I am quite sure the old sod's been dead for at least a decade. In any case, he was a very respectable fellow and he wouldn't do that, no matter how much he, ah, disapproves of some of my ... lifestyle choices, shall we say.
Er, in any case— what kind of name is "Samantha", if one is a prophet? How ... undignified.
Call me taxidermy, 'cause I'm too stuffy for that.
[Smoking or alcohol aren't of interest. He's got a pack of cigarettes stored away somewhere among his things, but those are strictly for trading. His arms spread into a broad shrug. It becomes clear as he approaches that he doesn't really have any legs to speak of, lower body instead comprised of a long, tapering tail that hovers a couple inches off the ground.]
[He's a colorful match for Anzu, if for entirely different reasons. He's neon orange, for starters, skin and hair and the feathers of his wings. The coat he's got on is orange too, as is the backpack slung across his front. (The wings kind of hinder wearing it the normal way.) He's got a sunhat on his head, a sort of rainbow, sock-like garment on his tail sewn from a kids' parachute game, and a window curtain slung like a cape over the wings. He's got a plastic table covering and trash bag layered over the tail sock, held in place with binder clips, a sleeping mask, and a flower crown. There are black leather gloves on his hand, and a bandana, surgical hat, and sweatband layered under the sunhat. Last, of course, are the aviator shades. It's an eclectic mix of "at least I'm not freezing."]
You new here? You don't smell like you've picked up the hobo stank yet. Makeup's probably not going to last long in this place, though.
[He comes to a stop before porch. His expression keeps fairly neutral.]
so trying to get used to this weird metal piece of paper. i mean i type things into it and it makes words appear. its great and all but this is quite the learning curve, let me tell you. we just write on paper and send then off with terrible terrors.
of course none of you would know what the heck im saying. writing. whatever.
anyways, can anyone tell me why im seeing numbers? i see them in the metal communicator here, and along the walls. theyre even all over toothless.
B. Pies
[Hiccup makes his way to the back of the bakery, a large creature lumbering behind him on all fours, his black wings tucked in tight to his back to make maneuvering easier. The viking pushes open the back door, motioning for the black dragon to stay put as he walks inside, his metal leg thumping against the floor of the bakery. He winces as he hears that sound and tries to distribute his weight differently.]
Ah great! There's some food in here. [He whispers over his shoulder as his dragon sits outside with his companion who had either followed them (because, let's be real, you can't be discreet with a dragon in tow), or they came willingly.]
I'm gonna see if there's anything of meat consistency. [He pauses as he looks over some of the pies, feeling his own stomach churn and twist in protest for the lack of food inside it.]
We should hurry. If this is a restock point, it'll kick us out at lock down.
[Stephen's still unfamiliar enough with Toothless (and the boy, but Toothless is a bit more naturally intimidating) to stand a little apart, attention half on the dragon instead of on what Hiccup's doing. His own stomach growls in response to the scent of fresh baked food as he glances around the bakery, eyes open for anomalies.]
You got anything you can carry some of those in? I'm thinking dine and dash, here.
2 @mjolnirxoxo; text This is a big problem! It's everywhere I look, and it doesn't even make sense! I'm not turning 30 soon.
Everyone knows its hopeless if you don't settle down by 30, but I'm still a young, eligible age! I'll get married with plenty of time to spare, so I don't need the reminders. I'll have cute kids and a house in Nevada or maybe Australia or anywhere without any snow with a picket fence with little skulls on top and Lord Death will let me retire! BEFORE 30!
3 [ It's never been in Marie's nature to look at a lucky break with suspicion. With how rough things have been, it's a nice treat to stumble upon a warm bakery filled with the scent of freshly baked pastry. When compared to the steep learning curve of living life as anything but a demon weapon, she especially won't start second-guessing now. Normal human limits were surprisingly stressful to live with. ]
Well. [ Catching herself at sounding more tired than she means to, she deliberately shifts her tone to something more upbeat. Someone has to keep level here, and Marie has made it her own personal duty to offer as much normalcy (by her own definition) as she can for those around her. The smile she offers her companion is genuine enough, at least. ] Let's get settled in and see what we've got to work with. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.
[ The most important part of this is to assess all that pie, and she's making a beeline. ]
[Don't worry Marie, Kid can be suspicious enough for the both of you. But as he looks like actual lukewarm death--and not just in name alone--he's a little bit too busy enjoying the warmth to be concerned.]
If you are that hungry, I have extra rations...it is not wise to wait until you're starving.
[Who has not noticed the pies? It's hard to with one eye, so...]
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snowblindmemes2017-03-14 09:17 pm
Sherlock Holmes | Elementary
@queenbee69; text
xperencing graphics issus w tablet: pxlation, img distortion, sml #s making up scrn imgs as in ascii art
others having this prblm? pls respond
3 HPY PI DAY
[ Fortunately for whoever happens to be traveling with him at the time, Sherlock is not so easily convinced by this apparent bounty. He knows there are places where fresh food appears through some unknown means (something he would very much like to investigate himself, should there ever be enough downtime in between other, more pressing matters) that doesn't mean this one or indeed any of the others should be regarded without caution.
He holds up a hand to tell his companion to wait a moment before charging in, a look of deep concentration on his face. No indication that any other people have passed through here recently, but the pies smell strong enough that they must have been removed from the oven and placed very recently. Or the pie crusts, more accurately. The scent of freshly baked pastry is genuine, but the notes of cooked fruit and sugar are distinctly artificial to his well-trained nose and laced with something unpleasant and metallic, almost undetectable beneath the rest.
Without a word, he stalks over to the counter, pulls a pencil from the pocket of his coat, and uses it to pry a portion of crust off one of the pies. ]
Eurgh. Somehow that's more unpleasant than I expected. [ While most people would be content to see that and conclude that the pies aren't worth eating, unfortunately for whoever happens to be traveling with Sherlock he is also insatiably curious and thorough.
Sherlock dips the eraser-end of his pencil into the goo and lifts it up to eye level to examine it. Black, viscous, opaque, warm from whatever oven these were cooked in and rapidly cooling. Definitely the source of the fake fruit smell and the metallic one, he concludes after sniffing at it. It smells like blood, but putting the color aside blood wouldn't have that consistency after being through the temperatures required to set a pie crust. So what is it? Why go to all the trouble of disguising it as a pie?
Rolling up his sleeve, Sherlock rubs the goo-covered pencil on the inside of his forearm, making sure to cover a patch of skin not already obscured by his tattoos. He then holds the pencil out towards the nearest person, a glob of the black substance hanging off the end. ]
Would you mind terribly if I swabbed some of this on your wrist? I want to see if it's contact-poisonous.
3
Reckon you can get that from the swab on yourself. I wouldn't recommend tasting it. Smells sort of like blood and the last bloke who drank some of that here came over sick.
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Or I could determine that there's some component to these that I specifically have an immunity or tolerance to that others may not have, or vice versa. There's no way of knowing if I'm the only one who tries, that's just how sample sizes work. You've studied medicine, you know this. [ What's intended to be encouraging is probably just coming across as a little condescending. He's trying. ]
If this substance isn't dangerous then the pastry shells may well be salvageable. Probably unpleasant tasting, after being baked with this... stuff. [ Goo pencil is wiggled for emphasis ] But are we really in a position to turn down potential food sources just because they're unpleasant? Aren't you at all interested in finding out what this is and why someone's decided to make pies out of it?
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@featherydouche; text
@queenbee69; audio
Clearly you can, if you can decipher it well enough to make sarcastic quips in a dialect even further removed from standard modern English. Yours, however, manages to retain all of the cumbersome baggage of its conventions while introducing new and exciting inefficiencies - precisely the opposite of what I was attempting to accomplish though I suppose if you really are having difficulties with a few omitted vowels then the point is moot.
[ That said, he sounds much more amused than annoyed. ]
audio;
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@hotstud_xxx; text
and turning it on?
text
made it wrse, if nethng
may b degradation ovr time tho.
text
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3
[ The looming figure eventually speaks in a voice that just...frankly, sounds like it'd be more at home with an eldritch monstrosity, were it not for the manner of speaking. If at all possible, Wight would've looked at least somewhat perplexed, but that was a little hard, given his...lack of expression. As it was, he simply tilts his head and creeps a step or two closer, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to get a better look at the mess left in the pans. ]
It's...blood, dude. Weird, nasty? Yeah. Still some of that life-ooze. That's...not a thing people call it, is it. [ Another rumble, this time with a shrug to match. He clacks his jaws in a moment of half-pondered contemplation for the consequences, but Wight offers his wrist nonetheless, careful to curl his claws inward just in case of any potential mishaps. Whatever this stuff could do, he's probably had worse, so-- why not. ]
Lay it on me. I can handle it. [ His gaze flicks down to the swatch of black on Sherlock's arm, and the sight gives him pause. ] Probably could've done that instead of. Also...on yourself? I don't mind getting, uh. Poisoned, you said? But you're-- squishy. Might do you differently.
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And most of the people here are "squishy" like myself - therefore seeing what this substance does or doesn't do to me is more likely to turn up useful results. Revolting blood-based concoction or not, it may have some unexpected properties. [ His best bet is it isn't meant to do anything other than be off-putting, but if someone went to all this trouble to disguise it as a pie then there may be something more to it. ] Of course, if you're volunteering I'm certainly not going to complain about the opportunity to find out what effects it might have on - what is it that you are, exactly?
[ Some might consider it a rude question, but it bears asking. Not every day a person wakes up in a ghost town under mysterious circumstances and finds themself speaking to a gigantic skull-faced being. ]
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1
So, ah, sweetness, is the way you choose to express yourself in writing a consequence of the glitches you're experiencing or are you only semi-literate? The device you're using isn't like a telegram, you don't have to be stingy with letters for the sake of penny-pinching or for the sake of brevity and the conservation of space. You can write full words! You really can, darling, I believe in you—
That aside, maybe moisture got into the inner workings of the tablet? There is, if you somehow haven't noticed, rather a lot of snow around here. And when snow melts, it can get into electronics and cause ... ah, problems.
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moisture alone wouldnt cause this problem the glitching is too specific
discoloration or distortion alone would be expected not replacement with another character set
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@Ecks | text
i dnt ndrstand
what is graphics, pxlation, img?
who r ascii?
Anzu Menelik | OC
@littlebird; text
Well, darlings, this is something of an embuggerance, nu? If anyone here has a sensible explanation of what I am doing here, I'd love to hear it—and please, do give me some credit and don't try to talk down to me. Unless, ah, some of the more unconventional branches of physics are involved, in which case, do feel free to talk to me like I'm five.
B
[ A jaunty figure in a long, neon pink fur coat sits on the front porch of a building, smoking a cigarette through a five-inch ivory holder. He's a dark-skinned man; his eyes are a phosphorescing, vivid kind of blue; long ears, pointy and clearly more mobile than an average human's, poke from under a tall fur hat of the kind you might've seen on a boyar in Russia in times of Ivan the Terrible. What's visible of his face—he has wound a fluffy scarf around the lower half—sports shimmering make-up. His eyes glitter with something like mischief, something almost like good cheer.
Seeing someone approach, he raises a dainty hand and waves. ]
Oh, darling! Finally, some company. I was driving myself rather mad, all on my own with my thoughts! Do come here ... I have cigarettes and, ah— well, if you're companionable, I've got something that might be vodka. What do you say? Keep an old queen company?
[ He certainly doesn't look old. ]
A; @whatisthis; text
Our immunity and yours is granted by small machines that also serve to suppress any abilities that would be considered unnatural in this world.
It's inconvenient.
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And it was written down in invisible ink, according to tradition. And before you insinuate that the rebbe who was present at the naming ritual blabbed, I am quite sure the old sod's been dead for at least a decade. In any case, he was a very respectable fellow and he wouldn't do that, no matter how much he, ah, disapproves of some of my ... lifestyle choices, shall we say.
Er, in any case— what kind of name is "Samantha", if one is a prophet? How ... undignified.
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@hotstud_xxx; text
tops
calling it now, bro
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B
[Smoking or alcohol aren't of interest. He's got a pack of cigarettes stored away somewhere among his things, but those are strictly for trading. His arms spread into a broad shrug. It becomes clear as he approaches that he doesn't really have any legs to speak of, lower body instead comprised of a long, tapering tail that hovers a couple inches off the ground.]
[He's a colorful match for Anzu, if for entirely different reasons. He's neon orange, for starters, skin and hair and the feathers of his wings. The coat he's got on is orange too, as is the backpack slung across his front. (The wings kind of hinder wearing it the normal way.) He's got a sunhat on his head, a sort of rainbow, sock-like garment on his tail sewn from a kids' parachute game, and a window curtain slung like a cape over the wings. He's got a plastic table covering and trash bag layered over the tail sock, held in place with binder clips, a sleeping mask, and a flower crown. There are black leather gloves on his hand, and a bandana, surgical hat, and sweatband layered under the sunhat. Last, of course, are the aviator shades. It's an eclectic mix of "at least I'm not freezing."]
You new here? You don't smell like you've picked up the hobo stank yet. Makeup's probably not going to last long in this place, though.
[He comes to a stop before porch. His expression keeps fairly neutral.]
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cw: homophobia thinly veiled in metaphor
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Hiccup | How to Train Your Dragon
@dragonmaster; TEXT
so trying to get used to this weird metal piece of paper. i mean i type things into it and it makes words appear. its great and all but this is quite the learning curve, let me tell you. we just write on paper and send then off with terrible terrors.
of course none of you would know what the heck im saying. writing. whatever.
anyways, can anyone tell me why im seeing numbers? i see them in the metal communicator here, and along the walls. theyre even all over toothless.
B. Pies
[Hiccup makes his way to the back of the bakery, a large creature lumbering behind him on all fours, his black wings tucked in tight to his back to make maneuvering easier. The viking pushes open the back door, motioning for the black dragon to stay put as he walks inside, his metal leg thumping against the floor of the bakery. He winces as he hears that sound and tries to distribute his weight differently.]
Ah great! There's some food in here. [He whispers over his shoulder as his dragon sits outside with his companion who had either followed them (because, let's be real, you can't be discreet with a dragon in tow), or they came willingly.]
I'm gonna see if there's anything of meat consistency. [He pauses as he looks over some of the pies, feeling his own stomach churn and twist in protest for the lack of food inside it.]
Do you think any of them are fish pies?
@hotstud_xxx; text
you're inside the matrix
and you're "the one"
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B
[Stephen's still unfamiliar enough with Toothless (and the boy, but Toothless is a bit more naturally intimidating) to stand a little apart, attention half on the dragon instead of on what Hiccup's doing. His own stomach growls in response to the scent of fresh baked food as he glances around the bakery, eyes open for anomalies.]
You got anything you can carry some of those in? I'm thinking dine and dash, here.
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Marie Mjolnir | Soul Eater
@mjolnirxoxo; text
This is a big problem! It's everywhere I look, and it doesn't even make sense! I'm not turning 30 soon.
Everyone knows its hopeless if you don't settle down by 30, but I'm still a young, eligible age! I'll get married with plenty of time to spare, so I don't need the reminders. I'll have cute kids and a house in Nevada or maybe Australia or anywhere without any snow with a picket fence with little skulls on top and Lord Death will let me retire! BEFORE 30!
3
[ It's never been in Marie's nature to look at a lucky break with suspicion. With how rough things have been, it's a nice treat to stumble upon a warm bakery filled with the scent of freshly baked pastry. When compared to the steep learning curve of living life as anything but a demon weapon, she especially won't start second-guessing now. Normal human limits were surprisingly stressful to live with. ]
Well. [ Catching herself at sounding more tired than she means to, she deliberately shifts her tone to something more upbeat. Someone has to keep level here, and Marie has made it her own personal duty to offer as much normalcy (by her own definition) as she can for those around her. The smile she offers her companion is genuine enough, at least. ] Let's get settled in and see what we've got to work with. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.
[ The most important part of this is to assess all that pie, and she's making a beeline. ]
@hotstud_xxx; text
srsly?
the only good thing about that state is vegas
and not to be a killjoy or anything
but lord DEATH sounds like the kinda guy who'll work you 'til you're dead
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@dissect; text
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help your Marie is so cute and perfect oh my gosh
aw thanks! these two are so ridiculous together, I love it
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@beyonce | audio
audio
perma-audio
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/vibrates into the sun with excitement
If you are that hungry, I have extra rations...it is not wise to wait until you're starving.
[Who has not noticed the pies? It's hard to with one eye, so...]
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