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?
[John stares the other man down for several seconds before sighing and pulling his coat and the layers beneath it up to expose his wrist. He presents that for Sherlock's swabbing.]
A sample size of two isn't much better, you realize? Particularly when we're both from places that haven't got psychics or monsters or any of the other things some of the people here are.
[ 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. ]
[Davesprite debates a little, then swaps to match. Audio is easier to parse than pixelated text.]
I dunno, dude, there's a whole species around here who takes typing like jackasses as a cultural standard. You sure I'm not one of them? Did I just catch you out on some space racism?
[ Sherlock seems incredibly pleased to have won this one. He thinks he likes this one. ]
And if there were any people here from those places I'd gladly ask them to lend a patch of epidermis to the cause as well, but seeing as it seems to be just the two of us here - [ He takes John by the wrist and smears a thin layer of black goo on his skin. If it makes him feel any better, it's a thinner layer than he put on himself. ] I'll work with what tools I have. Now, the recommended wait time before the next step is eight hours when working with unfamiliar plants, but I find with chemical substances one generally gets results much quicker. So! Is there anything you'd like to do while we wait to see if our arms fall off?
[ 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'd rather not stand around, and I've got a pair of surgical gloves and a palette knife. Could start taking apart the pies and scraping off what I can while you think. If that's not too distracting.
[John is used to being dismissed until he's needed at this point in the proceedings so that Sherlock can sit and stare off into the distance looking cool--thinking, the consulting detective might say. He doesn't expect much difference now.]
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. ]
I suppose I can't really be sure - still adjusting to the idea of more than one sapient species capable of mutually intelligible communication being around, actually, even if it did seem likely to happen eventually. [ Of course, his money had been on dolphins and apes over aliens, as seems to be the case in this strange town, but he's been wrong before. ] I'm not the one who just described their vernacular as "typing like jackasses" though.
Actually, this will go much faster if we both apply ourselves to the task. [ Why would he want to wander off and not examine the blood pies for himself? That's stupid. ] You start on that end and tell me if you notice any differences from the first one as you're working. These all look to be filled with the same stuff at first glance, but there could always be something more to it.
[John's expression shifts to momentary confusion. They're waiting for their arms to fall off. Why would the man want to help with something this tedious? But then he gets to the last bit. That makes more sense. All right. John can accept that, although there's still an air of mild puzzlement about his person.]
Uh... okay.
[Sherlock has a habit of subverting some of his expectations, but not that particular one.]
Have you got... I mean, I've only got the one knife and pair of gloves.
[John pulls off his pack and sets it down to check through.]
You can use my knife and gloves. I have a pair of forceps and a plastic bag I can make do with.
[It'll be messier, but he doesn't want the other man getting more of that goo on his hands when they don't even know what the first bit will do.]
Edited (Typos. Jesus. I can English.) 2017-03-19 15:59 (UTC)
Yeah, I noticed it. It went all pixelated and then I got the little numbers like you did. I've been trying not to focus on it too much. If it's going to turn into something big, it will sooner or later anyway; and if there's a code, I'm not the one who can find or solve it.
Yeah, that's...I'll give you that one. Thought it was gonna be good, because-- bakery stuff. Always smells nice. [ A nod. He kinda really wants to try some of the 'food' here on principle, but not if Sherlock needs it for anything. That'd just be rude. But it's food, and he has questions! That's not new, to be sure, but he can try and get an answer! ] --so it's supposed to be cherry? Eugh. That's not what I was thinking. Smelled kinda like...too much sugar and something bad. [ Were it possible, he'd have wrinkled his nose. Instead, he shakes his head, followed by a second clack. ] Like I said, weird. Kinda cool, though? Or's it just me.
[ The question hardly gives him pause-- he's more than happy to answer, if the way he perks up is any indication. Wight turns to look a little more squarely at Sherlock, shifting in place in a highly restrained version of an excited wiggle. ] Oh, well-- basically I'm...undead? Revenant. You are definitely not from anywhere I know, huh. Which is alright! For once I'm not the one confused about everything, and that's kinda great. [ He gives a quiet chuckle, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. ] Anyway, anyway. Don't worry about it too much, okay? It'll just give you, um. More info, right? Which iiiis what you seem to be wanting. ...if it's not, I might eat the thing just to try it.
[ His mumbling is pretty damn ineffective, given his voice, but it doesn't hurt to try. Idly, he prods at one of the larger chunks of the crust left intact, more than a little curious about it. ]
have you tried finding a pattern in the numbers? adding them up? if they total 69 the admin's probably having some fun at your expense or miller miller's move fun than evie
@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.
@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.
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snowblindmemes2017-03-14 09:17 pm
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