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: IT WON'T BE LONG NOW... Well, you made a mistake. You spent too long searching around, or you ran outside near the end of the day for just one more thing, and now you've been locked out. You can search around all you want, but the best shelter you can hope for is pressing against the side of a sealed up building. You do still have your tablet, though. Maybe someone on the network can give you some advice, or at least some comfort while you wait for hypothermia to set in.
TWO: CABIN FEVER Maybe you didn't want that mistake of getting caught outside to happen again, but now you've ended up staying too long in one location, and cabin fever has set in. Maybe you're taking to the network to try and ignore the hallucinations. Maybe you want to tell everyone that you've figured out they're all in on your kidnapping. Maybe you ended up wandering off and now you'd really like to know if anyone can check back in the place you were at for your pants.
Action Prompts
THREE: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING You're going about your business searching what seems like it might be an especially promising house--it's fully intact and there's even a working fireplace with some wood! It looks like someone else has the same idea, though, and you've run into them in the middle of your search. Do you share the potential wealth or try to kick them out? On the other hand, maybe you know who this is, or maybe you're just glad to actually see another person for the first time in ages.
FOUR: GOOD MORGUE-NING You've just woken up in a morgue after dying in one unfortunate way or another. You have no idea where you are beyond that, but your tablet is insisting you can't stay here, so you should probably get out of here pretty quickly. Of course, bringing people back from the dead isn't a perfect science, so you're missing something important to you. Maybe you've lost your voice, maybe you can't remember where you're from, maybe you can't remember where you are right now. It looks like someone else is nearby, though. Maybe they can help you out?
[Cristian's fingers shake as they hover over the tablet. He's delineating on whether he should bother with it. He doesn't much care for this network. He only uses it sparingly at best. Now, however, he finds himself grappling with the urge to speak. Perhaps he should indulge; it will be his last chance to allow himself to do so.
Romania's winters never were forgiving. Cristian knows how much his body can take. It's a considerable amount, but he is, unfortunately, only human. He knows he is going to die. He cannot move anymore. The snow around him is blinding, making a distress call would be useless. By the time anyone would find him, he will have turned into ice. Cristian wouldn't ask someone to risk life and limb to fetch him anyway.
It's a very ignoble death. He never expected anything grand. Perhaps he'd have his throat slit in the night by a freed enemy, or his fellow officers would at last become aware of his particular and gruesome methods of police work and have him executed via firing squad. But this...
In the end, he turns it on but turns it face down so the screen only shows darkness. No one should watch a man freeze to death, not to mention that he didn't want to encourage any heroes. In sound, should he stop speaking, it would just appear that he has grown bored with conversation. It wouldn't be the first time.]
What do you think-- [His accented voice betrays a shiver, and his teeth chatter, but otherwise he sounds as calm as he always does. He always knew he wouldn't make it to old age.] What do you think makes a bad man?
There are those who are, without question, filled with malice. Filled with the desire to harm his fellow man. [Cristian pauses. Then continues:] Or those who simply do not care. But where is the line for this.. do you think? Does ignorance make a bad man? Desire? ... Perhaps caring too much for one and thereby hurting others. Is it these qualities that doom us, or the choices that follow them?
ACTION PROMPT: FOUR
Cristian never doubted that he would end up in Hell. He made his peace with that some time ago. He knew it better than anyone in the world: intent did not excuse action. He had slaughtered dozens in his home. They were all the lowest forms of humanity, all people who aided his country's oppressor and reaped from the sorrow of its people. Never for a second did Cristian think he was any better than them. He wanted to ease the pain of his people, but the morally bankrupt did not listen to the good. So he spoke in a language they would understand. He learned to speak death better than his own tongue.
Then death decided to change itself. Cristian bolted upright in his body bag. Long hair dank and wild, it shrouded his face and equally wild and dark eyes. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurry. He tried to process his current state. The last thing he remembered was the cold. He was trapped outside, a long, long way from home and no shelter presented itself to him. It was a wretched way to die, forced into stillness. Childish as it was, he admitted to himself in his last moments that what he wanted was a loud death, to die fighting and kicking and screaming and resisting to his final breath.
It would seem that he was offered a second chance to do just that. If this wasn't some kind of trick. If he wasn't in Hell already.
His legs shook but they held him up when he got out of the shelf and stood on solid ground. What concerned Cristian more was that his sight had yet to return to him. Everything swam out of focus, lost in a white blur. This was discomforting, as it was more or less what he saw before he died.
Time did not let him linger on the fact. A now familiar voice emitted from the device given to him upon his initial arrival. Cristian slowly made his way towards it, following the noise. It warned him that he must leave... wherever he was. He failed to listen to the first warning it gave to his peril, so now he reached out and snatched it from the table before making his way from the building. He used walls as his guide, running his hands along them to gain his bearings. Eventually, he stumbled his way into the daylight.
Cristian skidded to a halt. Out in the open, his sight only worsened, everything too brilliantly white and covered in snow. One foot gingerly made its way in front of the other as he tried to suss out where the steps were. There had to be some nearby this building, surely? What a vision he must have made. He could not even tell if anyone was around to see it.
[The lack of anything to see on the screen was unusual, but Al just assumes that perhaps this person has something about their appearance they dislike showing off. For now, he doesn't even connect this with a call of someone trapped outside, he merely thinks this is someone trying to pass the long, dark hours of the night.]
I don't think anything can be as black and white as a good or a bad person, not when people are so complicated. But... I guess I think that if you willingly hurt someone, or repeatedly hurt people not out of defence, that makes you bad. But even then, I don't think it's ever too late for someone to make up for what they've done in the past, as long as they keep moving forwards and trying their best.
Three It's not like New York winters are easy as pie but Angie doesn't have a better coat than the one she was wearing when she got here and no gloves to speak of. So she's playing is safe and only going outside during the daytime--not that it looks all that sunny with the heavy clouds overhead.
She's rather proud of herself for finding this house and it doesn't look so bad, the floors aren't even rotted through, even if they creak like church pews on a full Sunday. It makes her feel uncomfortable, being in an empty place like this with the kind of noises the house keeps making. The fireplace is what catches her attention, and she kneels down to check out the wood.
But then there's more creaking and her head spins to look behind her, heart pounding. "Who's there? You're gonna give a girl a fright!"
"Whoa, sorry!" The figure in the doorway has her furred hood drawn up to protect her face from the cold, but she throws it back now and shakes off the snow covering her.
"Didn't know someone else was in here," Korra says, giving Angie what she hopes is a disarming smile. Both hands sweep out to the side, showing the other woman that she's unarmed. "Mind if I join you? The storm's getting worse."
One [Of course he won't admit to getting himself locked out because he wasn't paying attention to the hour. There's nothing to admit! It's not like it's that cold! He's been through way worse than this and came out just fine. Like that time he fell in a frozen lake! He can handle this no problem.
Which is why he's laughing to himself and not shivering and his teeth definitely aren't chattering at all because he's moving around and keeping himself warm. And he'll prove it.]
It feels great out here! Why am I the only one enjoying this? It's like you've never seen a little snow in your lives. [He's judging all of you and you're life choices that are better than his.]
Three He finds the house and claims it for his own. No one else is around (that he can see) and shelter is a priority with this kind of weather. He's already checking out the place, looking for supplies and anything else he might be able to find in the cupboards and shelves. He hits the jackpot when he finds some dusty cans. Beans and corn, but it was at least something. He gathers a bunch of the cans up into his arms and takes them back to the room with the fireplace. Better to have all of the goods in one defensible location.
What he didn't expect what to find someone else already in there. "Hey, how did you get--" One of the cans slips from his overfilled arms and lands right on his left foot. "Ow!"
[Hope is no stranger to crazy people, the wasteland is full of them. But wow...yeah. She's inside because she's already done that whole freezing to death thing before.]
I think it's the whole, you'll end up dead if you don't get inside after a certain hour bit that puts most people off.
prompt two [Zelda should have known better. Impa had always told her to keep moving, never linger in any one place for too long when they were hiding from Ganondorf's forces. But when faced with the alternative of freezing to death outside in the cold if she didn't find shelter in time, she erred on the side of being overly cautious.
And, admittedly, she was hesitant to leave a house blessed with both a fireplace and blankets.
She regrets these choices now, as the walls appear to bleed and the fire itself seems to be whispering cruel things directly into her mind. But even if she really wanted to throw herself at the mercy of the elements to get away from it all, the doors have locked down for the night, and she is stuck with her hallucinations until morning. With little else to distract her, she fiddles with the tablet until she connects to the network, trying to look more put together than she actually is as she turns the video feed on.]
If anyone would mind sharing, I would like to hear of any legends that might exist in worlds other than my own. Personally, I was raised on the stories of heroes from the distant past, and I am curious if there are others with similar tales to tell.
[Almost like telling stories around a campfire, except only a few of them actually have access to a fire and no one knows where anyone else is and is the floor melting oh Goddesses someone please respond to her quickly--]
prompt four [Well, that was certainly traumatizing.
Zelda awakens in the morgue with a start, hand going to her throat where something had grabbed her just before the world smashed to black. And just as rumored, she finds herself hale and whole despite all logic and reason telling her she shouldn't be.]
Farore, give me strength...
[...?]
Hello?
[... She can't hear her voice. Is it gone? She quickly clambers up off of the metal table she awoke on, knocking on it with her fist.
Nothing.
Her tablet chimes with it's warning to leave immediately, but she can't hear it. She can't hear anything. But maybe you've heard all the noise she's been making? Or her heavy breathing as she desperately tries not to lose herself to her panic. She could use some assistance.]
[Maybe it's the cabin fever getting to her, or maybe it's just easier to ignore the awfulness of this place when she's thinking of something else. Either way, Korra finds herself answering Zelda's message.]
I don't think it's a ...a legend, exactly. A lot of people have forgotten about him--but I like thinking of Avatar Wan's story sometimes.
[ Ygritte is no stranger to the cold; on the contrary it's like a welcome friend, albeit a harsh and unforgiving one. Survival has been her entire way of life north of the Wall, and waking up in this place is strangely familiar.
Different, though, in that she's on her own.
After hours of searching she comes upon a shelter — furnished, with warm furs and a hearth with extra kindling wood, and most likely some foodstocks lying around somewhere if she looks hard enough — and she begins exploring room by room, cautious and wary as she moves around the residence. It seems as though if it isn't occupied now it was very recently, and her fingers itch like mad for her weirwood bow and quiver, even a bone-carved dagger, just in case she encounters someone. There's no telling what a person may do if they found the shelter first and consider her a trespasser.
And it's just after that thought, that she steps over the threshold into another room and stops short at the figure she sees. ]
This's your place, then?
[ network: cabin fever ]
[ She's stayed inside for far too long, unwilling to forfeit her shelter in the event that someone else comes along and claims it; in the culture of the Free Folk, anything abandoned or left alone is snapped up fairly quickly. The downside of it is that now Ygritte is completely beside herself.
She manages to activate the communication device, and shouts into it: ]
I know all 'f you did this t' me! I know it's all a trick t' get me out — for all I know you're the ones who brought me here 'gainst my will! T' that, I say — you can have my shelter, when you're ready t' WALK ALL OVER MY BLOODY CORPSE!
[The noise on the porch has her panicked, grabbing the closest thing to her. Sansa isn't a fighter, she's no knight nor sellsword, but the fire poker at least makes her feel like she has a chance (though even she knows it is unlikely). Her words and her courtesy are her sword and armor. Vigilant, Sansa keeps the weapon close to her until the door is open.]
Mine? No. [It is the truth. The darkhaired girl eyes the woman carefully. She could easily overpower her if she wanted, sending her out to the cold and her death. It would be better to share the space, for the sole reason of her survival.]
You can stay if you like though. The fire is warm, and there is some stew left in the pot.
[It isn't much, and even Sansa knows it. She may not make it through the next day without scavenging, but then she may not make it through the night if this women chooses it.]
[ She's not an outdoor kind of girl, by any means, so this entire experience is proving to be quite challenging.
But Mirena is strong of heart and will, and that alone has propelled her to stay alive, to seek refuge and shelter when she needs it and still be able to forage for that she requires. She's long since abandoned any hope of rescue, from this place; it's obvious she's no longer in Wallachia, and from the few people she's managed to speak to, this place draws people from far away locations. All to converge here, in this frozen wasteland, to fend for themselves...which she does, if only for the hope that she will return at some point to her husband and her son, who desperately need her.
(She can't imagine what heartache Vlad must be going through, after the siege on Castle Dracula, finding her gone.)
In her efforts to secure any necessities from outside that she might need, she waits just a moment too long, and the shelter she's found for herself for the night locks shut before she can get inside. She's trapped outside with her satchel and just a few items to keep her alive, but even a medieval princess knows all too well that a container of water and a few packets of rations won't stop her from succumbing to an icy death.
Over the network, her words will be translated into English from what would seem to be - for someone with an ear for languages - an old dialect of Romanian. ]
...I wish to know if someone can assist me...it's cold. [ shuddering. ] So cold, and I've been locked out.
[ wildcard: ] - run into Mirena in any scenario you would choose!
[Scavenging has rapidly become more familiar a skill than Bard would like, so he can tell the moment he walks in that this place will be worth more than a quick once-over: plenty of intact furniture, a downright pleasant ambient warmth, and a certain quality of sound that indicates no major holes to worry about.
There is also the sound of footsteps, however, so Bard stays alert. He hasn't yet met anyone hostile since arriving here, but given how few people he's actually seen face to face, that isn't saying much. There's a broom a few feet away that might suffice as a weapon should he need it, but he leaves it for now.]
Hello? I don't want any quarrel, I'm just looking for shelter and supplies.
[Maria was really starting to hate being thrown into situations that she's not prepared for. It is almost laughable really how often she was getting herself out of tight situations that Fury or Stark out her in.
Somehow she didn't think this was the same thing. ]
Hello? Is anyone out there. I am Maria Hill, formerly of Shield, and I don't know where I am. Can anyone help me?
[Three]
Maria had been here for about a week, and so far had not been able to figure anything out. She just trudged around in the snow, not seeing anything for miles. The only thing visible was the vast white Tundra before her. Who said she even liked snow?
Come on really? She's in the military, but there's only so much a girl can take. She looked up, and saw a cabin, it's soft light glowing in the window. It had been so long, since she had actually slept in a bed. She could almost feel the blankets as they wrapped around her.
Maria drew her gun when she reached the door, opening it softly, but instead of it closely just as quietly, it slammed shut.
"Perfect," She muttered, grateful to be inside. "Anyone here?"
So far, from what I can gather it's a town called Norfinbury, and there don't appear to be any natives local to the place. Just those of us who have been, for a lack of a better word, abandoned here.
I'm afraid those are all the answers that I've got.
[ as if a certain young alien didn't have a lot on her mind before waking up in this snowy, miserable place, the longer she stays, the worse she feels. cut off from the force is like losing one of her senses and she's never been the biggest fan of endless snowy wastelands, anyway. give her cities or plains any day.
it's all of this that prompts a rambling, stream-of-consciousness message to the network at large, because surely socializing will make her feel better. ]
Everyone here seems to come from pretty different universes so we're all used to the universe working in different ways, but things like fate and paths of destiny are universal (multiversal?) right? What if this is penance for fighting your fate, what if you took the wrong path and now instead of where you're supposed to be you're stuck in the cold with the walls closing in and all you can hear is snow and there's no way to fix it now, now that you're here? Just more snow and cold and snow and less space for you forever?
B | action (four)
[ a jedi was supposed to accept her death, allow herself to become one with the force. and ahsoka had. or at least she thought she had.
but no, she's alive again, with a pulse and lungs that filled as they should and a sense of panic just a little louder than the calm she's reaching for. it's unsettling. to be dead and then not? it's not right.
worse, she can't see a thing. ahsoka's been in dark rooms in the middle of realspace before and those were dark but this is beyond dark. it's not just the morgue, it's her sight. already well-robbed of her connection to the force and now her another useful sense for a natural hunter, her expression is probably one of distress, the little unsettled tremour in her hand noticeable as she gathers her things by touch. but she won't let it stop her, just making a little more noise than she absolutely has to to get a picture of thing. the passive echolocation that usually gets registered by the scooped montrals on top of her head is just going to have to be a lot less passive until this gets fixed.
it'll get fixed, right? ]
Oh-- [ and that would be her finding someone else -- or at least something that sounds like it's alive and moving -- on her way out. oh here is code for, please tell me who you are. ]
C | wildcard
[ aka oh hey look at this teenage alien, all bitter and disgruntled but ultimately pretty damn good at surviving in endless snow if she has to. she just doesn't want to. so she'll try to be helpful and social and get to know her fellow captives and share some good old fashion hero-type pep talks, even when she doesn't believe what she's saying for a moment. (open to anything. will match prose or brackets!) ]
[It is no surprise at all that Korok has been locked out. Shelter is not easy for him to find or return to, even with his frostwolf to guide him. If nothing else, she gives him a bit of fur to huddle up with to try and keep warm.
But if he hopes to survive the night, he will need help to build shelter. His voice translates to text on the tablet -- he's been shouting at it for a few minutes now. He's never been very good with any technology, goblin or otherwise. Eventually he triggers the function he needs.]
If anyone is receiving this message, I require aid.
Three
Stormseer. Its a name he'd been given some time ago, before his vision had begun to fail from age. He doesn't need his eyes to see the blizzard going on around him, though his lack of connection to this world's elements distress him in ways he could not even begin to consider. Were it not for his frostwolf companion, getting to the cabin would have been an impossibility thanks to the severance.
He has yet to determine whether it is a true severance, or simply that he has not learned to speak the language of harsh wind and water of whatever hellish land he has come to. Being Frostwolf clan had thankfully prepared him for the cold, but no preparation would save him from hypothermia if he didn't get a fire going -- something that is also much harder than it looks when you once relied on asking Fire to come to aid you, rather than starting the fire yourself.
The old orc pauses and stiffens when keen ears pick up movement near the entrance. He can feel his wolf beside him rising to growl a warning when her master stops his task. In spite of his size and bulk, he is old and vulnerable -- should his new guest not have sympathy, he would surely be an easy target. That didn't mean he was going to cower and beg for mercy, of course.
"If it is shelter you seek, do us both the favor of closing the door behind you, stranger."
Despite the cold Rifa is surprisingly warm. Her skills with leatherworking means she's usually wearing an ample amount of fur; her time spent in climates people would usually shun also helps this. But someone else needs the heat more than she does. The old orc in front of her is a shaman at first glance, though she can't be sure. More importantly he's a bit advanced in age. They'll need to depend on each other to survive this spirits-barren place.
Her blue eyes shift to the wolf guarding him, and she holds out her hand for the creature to sniff. She smells like beasts and outdoors, pine and wood and old blood. Her heart aches for the absence of her own wolf; Greyheart has been her partner since escaping the camps. "Forgive my intrusion, shaman," she murmurs. Her voice is rich and smooth, belying her rough outer appearance. "I was scouting for supplies, but the hour grows late." She sets her pack down, but doesn't make a move until she has the wolf's permission. "I am Rifa. I did not think I would find another orc in this place."
[Clementine had found a small cabin with a fireplace and some necessities; she also had enough food for at least a week or so. Though she didn't really believe in staying in one place too long, she'd grown tired. And stopping here a week or so couldn't hurt, right? Wrong, apparently. The hallucinations soon began. A feeling of being watched grew into the image of eyes in the walls. The eyes have since changed again, into a dead body that stands in the corner of the room, rotting but still drawing breath.
It's just one, staring at her and making the slow groaning breaths she's grown so used to. Sometimes it looks like her mom, other times it looks like her dad, or Lee, or Kenny, or various other friends she's met over the past few years.
It doesn't move, and for some reason neither does she. If Clementine were in a sane sense of mind, she would already have furiously bashed that walker's head in with any hard object nearby (even the tablet would do). But she's disoriented, somehow confused by it, and she keeps seeing something in front of the walker - like a deep dark pit that might suck her in if she gets too close. So, she stays where she is. And the walker stays where it is.
All she has now is the people on the other end of this tablet. People she's growing sure she can't even trust.]
has anyone else seen a walker in their room?
a living dead person, I mean.
four
[Clementine should be dead; she froze to death, she should be out of her mind and clawing for flesh in the snow. She's not dead though, and she has her own mind, she doesn't want to hurt anyone; she's not a walker. There's still something very wrong though. The place she's woken up in is cold, and pretty quiet, but she can't tell where she is. No matter how wide her eyes open, she can't see anything. She's blind.
Clementine tries not to let panic settle in, feeling her away along the edges of the building, holding tightly to the tablet that tries to tell her over and over that she should leave. How can she? Without being able to see where to go -
She stops in her tracks though when she hears a noise ahead of her.]
Since Yotsuba had no idea how she'd woken up in this strange, super cold place or where her Daddy was, she'd set out to find some answers, especially since the food in her bag (what she was currently calling a backpack) was really dry and yucky! Since she'd woken up with a coat, it made searching around a bit easier, and at first, she'd enjoyed the snow, even though she still had no answers and didn't really know how to use the tablet she'd woken up with-so much so that she didn't even know that it was called a tablet.
When it was time for lunch, she'd gone into a house so she could eat before wandering around again, but..since she wasn't aware of things like hypothermia or the time limit she had, when she tried to enter a house, tired, freezing, and starving, she'd found it locked. She tried a few other houses with the same result, and, panicking, she quickly put down her bag so she could eat something before looking through the electronic device and, afterwards, after a long period of trial and error, she managed to send out a voice message to the network.
"Help! All the doors are locked, and it's freezing and Yotsuba doesn't know where I am! Who are you?! What's this?! And where's Daddy?!"
If it sounded like she was crying or on the verge of tears, it was because she was about to cry. Normally, she didn't, but..it was hard to enjoy a situation like this.
Three:
Yotsuba wasn't expecting anyone else to come into the house she was resting and eating in, and since this seemed like a dangerous place, she'd quickly hop up in a childish fighting stance with a questioning, accusatory look on her face. The fireplace wasn't lit, since she didn't know what it was or how to use it, but if this person was bad, she wouldn't let them stay here or take her even further away from her Daddy!
One) [He hadn't been fast enough. A fact that was so beyond irritating and ridiculous that he was seething. Since when was he not fast enough? But whatever this stupid place was, it was messing with his powers and that meant everything was practically crawling.
Now he was going to freeze to death, alone, all because he couldn't find some stupid house that wasn't broken to stay in. If he could just run, maybe he'd be able to generate enough heat to keep himself warm, at least until he found somewhere that wasn't sealed up tight. But 'if onlys' were a waste of time at this point and, for once, he didn't have a lot of that.
He found a decrepit and broken down building that offered shelter from the wind but not from the temperature. He didn't hesitate before ducking inside. Pietro found a corner to huddle in, the lack of any trace amount of fat on him not helping to keep his temperature up. His hands ran over the tablet, aware he might be able to find some help if he just asked for it.
But that would require asking for it. He hesitated.]
D-Dang it...
[He turned on the video function and tried to keep the shivers out of his voice and his expression hard. Just because he was just asking a question. He wasn't weak.]
There's gotta be s-somebody in this blasted place who's got an open door. Guess I missed the warning or something.
[Because he definitely wasn't going to admit to failings he shouldn't even have. He shivered but reached up to swipe at the white tendrils of his hair to cover for it.]
Come ooon, one of you lo...guys' gotta be awake just speak up already. [Don't call losers losers when you're trying to get something from them, no matter how irritated. Bad idea.]
Three) This place wasn't so bad. There wasn't really heating, but there was a fireplace. Not that he knew how to use it, but it would be nice if he did. More importantly, it had a nice large, cushy, armchair that Pietro could spread his long self out on and relax for the night. He was used to having whatever comforts he wanted and slumming it like this was hard, but it was amazing just how quickly he'd come to appreciate four walls and a roof in such a short amount of time.
His peace and quiet, however, was interrupted by the tell-tale sounds of someone coming in from the back door in the other room. The teen jolted into a proper sitting position and then went still.
"Who's there? This joint's already spoken for so clear out!"
This day was turning out to be nothing but an exercise in feeling utterly frustrated about everything. Why was his body so weak and useless now? Why couldn't he change forms anymore? Who did this to him, and what did they want? Where was he supposed to go to escape? He'd hoped to find the answers to those questions by exploring his new surroundings, but there was absolutely nothing to find. The tablet he was carrying, despite being connected to a network of some kind, also offered nothing except for some humans begging for answers to the same questions; that was why he quickly started to ignore it. He couldn't care less about their worthless problems. He had his own to solve.
Eventually, his search led him to a house. As he was starting to feel exhausted - a fact that just added to all of his other frustrations - he decided to rest inside. He entered through the back door-
And then he heard it only moments later. A voice, and not a friendly one.
Immediately Chase stopped in his tracks (and tried to ignore the fact that he shivered reflexively as he did so). Then, carefully, he approached the doorway to the next room, from beyond which he could see a young human male sitting in a chair. Rather than respond right away, the Roidmude decided first to stay half-hidden and observe this human, to calculate how much of a threat he possibly was. (Because peeking around a corner with an ominous stare on his face would really help the situation if he were spotted.)
Every morning, he started off in the same direction, certain that if he walked far enough, he'd find something useful. It meant risking he might not find shelter at night, but so far he'd gotten lucky. It wasn't his usual, but he wasn't going to complain.
His trek today had landed him in a new group of buildings, it wasn't too far from the one he'd left this morning which meant it was probably part of one town, just spread out as these ruddy country towns often were.
Staying there where he knew he'd find shelter was the smarter decision, so Owen dedicated what he had of his day to exploring all of the buildings. One of the first he'd explored had been a morgue and even though there seemed to be bodies in it, he hadn't been able to open the doors to examine them. Disappointing, really. He'd given up and wandered off somewhere else, but as he was passing the building later on, it looked like someone was coming out of the morgue.
Owen paused, caution flaring up. People weren't supposed to walk out of morgues, but it very easily could just be another wanderer like him. Of course, that begged the question 'why hadn't he seen them yet?' This place wasn't very big. Still, it was the first face he'd seen in a long time so it'd be idiotic to ignore them.
"Oi!" He waved and dredged through the snow to reach them. It was only once he was closer that he noticed they seemed out of sorts. "You alright?"
And there went the poor, recently-risen-from-the-dead man, collapsing backward into the snow out of surprise. It took him a moment of flailing to get back onto his feet, but - hard as it might be to believe at first sight - he did eventually stand again. How could he not be surprised? It was a face! A real face! He hadn't seen one of those here in what felt like forever, and while he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't more or less on his own after the Zangyack destroyed his home, it was quite lonely being all on one's own...especially in a situation like this. Not even saying anything about dying-
B-but anyway. Don cleared his throat, trying to return to a less socially awkward state of being. "Sorry, I...you surprised me." That was an understatement. But at least the surprise had been a nice wake-up call from the mental fog he'd been in ever since he'd woken up in that...place. "It's just, I haven't seen anyone else in awhile...are you lost here, too?"
[The video feed shows one pathetic looking guy pressed against the corner of a building. It's dark, but that is the least of his concerns. He shivers.]
I never did like the snow, or ice.
[Semantics really. He tilts his head up, looking at the sky.]
Anyone feel like singing together? [Demyx's teeth chatter.]
Three
[Finally, a house with supplies. He's been searching desperately, looking for any way to keep his head above water, so to speak. Survival in this kind of situation just wasn't something he was an expert at. Demyx is learning quickly that his lack of education is really hurting his ability to stay alive like a normal human. Warmth, he wants warmth and this house has a fully stocked fireplace.
Footsteps, footsteps behind him. He freezes and turns ever so slowly, tilting his head a little at the intrusion. It was too good to be true. He swallows and tries a small smile.]
H-Hey there. [His mind chants a litany of 'Please be friendly, please be friendly'.]
Four
[He wakes up on the table and the tablet is annoyingly telling him he needs to get up and go. Demyx opens his mouth and grumbles at the stupid thing, although no sound comes out. He pauses in his tracks and tries again. He can feel the vibration in his throat. It's not that there's no sound, it's that he can't hear it. He shivers and his eyes go very wide. He can't hear his voice. He can't hear anything around him and most of all he wouldn't be able to hear music.
He sinks to his knees on the ground. Why bother bringing him back from the dead at all if he's just going to be trapped in hell?
The most incredible thing happens and a tear slides down his cheek.]
[While Yotsuba wasn't quite skilled enough with her tablet to send out a video message in reply, she was at least capable of sending out text and voice messages, so, since she was in a rather secure house at the moment, she'd reply, and while Demyx couldn't see it, she looked worried. He'd probably be able to hear it in her tone of voice.]
Yotsuba likes the snow, but this is too cold! It's super chilly! You look cold too! You should go inside, if you can! Or make a fire! But Yotsuba would like to sing with you!
[Sakata Gintoki had stepped out one last time before the night fell with the simple intent of taking a piss. The cabin had begun to feel stifling, and he had assumed the change of surroundings would give both a literal and figurative breath of fresh air.
Besides, there was something enjoyable in the idea of writing his name in the snow. A small act of spite that brought him some sense of victory.
Unfortunately, by the time the albino had returned to the cabin he found the door sealed shut. No amount of shouting or banging on the door allowed the fixture to budge. He even went so far as to ram the weight of his body into the damn thing - and all he accomplished were a few annoying scrapes and a bruise to his pride.
Frustration began to drain from his being as he pressed his back up to the door of the cabin. Eyes filled with the energy akin to a dead fish surveyed his surroundings. Snow soaked into the fabric against his ass, as if only to add insult to injury. The cold nipping at his nose seemed to promise that this was only the tip of the iceberg.
It seemed this would be one pain in the ass way to go.
Gintoki pressed at the bridge of his nose, brows furrowing. The idea of being stuck was not only embarrassing, but also inconvenient. At least in action, he didn’t have to sit around and wait for his demise like someone who was waiting for the next available stall in a public restroom.
And so, he decided to retreat into his tablet. He’d remembered to bring that, but apparently couldn’t be assed to make it back into the cabin on time. Who came up with such arbitrary rules such as this anyhow? How was the cabin locked?
Was there a ghost inside, holding the door closed at his expense? Ready to drag him down to the depths of purgatory for company? Throwing a fit because it didn't agree with his idea of self-expression?
He laughed at the thought - the laugh of a man who wasn’t entirely convinced that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. His attempt at entertaining himself had only caused a spark of paranoia to grow within his heart.
Gintoki worked to turn on the video feed of his video that must faster.]
Oi. Don’t got out if you have to take a piss. Unless you follow a very strict schedule. There’s no respect for the call of nature around here, you won’t find it.
[No prize for guessing who's also stuck out in the middle of the fucking snow and just learned that- yeah, the door on his end appears to be stuck too. The video swings a little as he tugs once, tugs harder, gives the door an You have got to be fucking kidding me I come from a world where everyone's stupidly overpowered and I can't open this door? look and then he glances up wondering if maybe he could climb up to the second story?]
[ It's interesting, to say the least. He might not be the person most fond of the snow and the wind, but it's ... interesting. Of course, he's used to it, thanks to the many unwarranted and unpleasant journeys to the vast frozen plains of Jötunheim over the years. But the familiarity here is gone. It's a quaint, quiet little village (presumably; the outside isn't so bad but the rundown shack he unexplicably woke up in is pitiful at best,) with fewer mountain peaks and even fewer frost beasts roaming about. Might as well take in the few pleasures there are, aye?
But he stands outside after gathering his bearings, and he's surprised. He's cold. There's a chill tingling down his spine, his extremities suddenly feeling the brunt of it. He's cold.
It's remarkable. Years, centuries passing by without wondering why he never needed more than a light coat when travelling to frozen realms and everyone else in the party bundled up in furs, now all for naught. The snow even slips into a crease in his boots and now his toes are colder.
Strange, indeed. Fascinating, but strange. And it took all of two minutes before Loki decided he fucking hated it.
His foul moods are often a force to be reckoned with, but here he has no army, no weapons, no magic, and he's cold. Figuring out what happened can wait, for now he's making an immediate bee line for the nearest unlocked house and kicking the door open, grumbling and stomping inside. ]
Brilliant. [ muttered under his breath as he dusts snow from his hair and shoulders. ] Simply brilliant.
network: prompt #1
[ somehow, he's not surprised. investigations and discoveries can be so time consuming, and now it's getting late and the houses are locked on him. fantastic.
no one seems to be answering his knocks (perhaps they know who's on the other side of the door, good on them,) and now, he falls back to that last resort: primitive technology. it's archaic and it's unreliable, and he can't believe this is what he's reduced to, but if he's stuck outside then someone at least has to throw a pillow out the window. maybe a cup of tea. he could be lucky. ]
Should there be a considerate soul amongst the lot of us all confined here, a word of advice on safe lodgings in these dreadful outdoor conditions would be appreciated.
I've my doubts, obviously, but it would be nice not to have to sleep in a snowdrift.
[Maybe Loki isn't at all used to experiencing the hardship of cold, but this guy isn't feeling much happier about it. After all he's been someplace muggy and tropical for the past few years. And even before then, suffering from exposure to the common elements isn't something that happens to people like him.
But he was able to find a safe shelter and he's been doing his best to keep warm inside it. Staring at the pile of kindling in the corner, rubbing his arms as he thinks hard about whether or not he has the capability to build a fire from scratch in the nearby fireplace.
He can't believe he forgot to lock the door. But then, he hasn't seen anyone else so far; he wasn't factoring in other 'survivors' wandering around out here just yet. He looks up at the sudden intrusion, taking in the other man's discomfort and aggravation at a glance.]
...I don't suppose you're the one that lives here, then?
[The voice that cracks is worn, almost sleepy sounding.]
It's almost kind of funny. The cold never did affect me before.
Anyone have advice on how to stay warn? Can't say I've ever slept outside in the snow before.
four
He wakes up, with a sudden, shocked gasp, nearly thrashing off of the table. He breathes in so sharply he almost can't believe it-- and then his body relaxes into that calmness he's used to after waking up from dying. Like a bad hangover, another bit of life taken from his body. He's not down for the count, not yet. Not now.
Greed stares at his hands for a long moment. He still can't summon his Shield, can't feel the power coursing through him from the shards of Philosopher's Stone in his stomach. It's an uncomfortable feeling. It makes him vulnerable.
He doesn't know where he is right now, and that's never happened. This isn't Amestris, it's not that wretched cell he was in not too long ago. He glances up at the other occupant of the room, with his alien cat-slit pupils. "Feel like I just woke up from a wicked hangover. You have any idea where the hell we are?"
He knows that voice, it's the first familiar one that he's heard here, but it's the last one he expected to hear. He thought Greed gone, or mostly gone, and he honestly isn't sure what he is feeling at finding himself wrong.]
G-Greed?! But... but how?
[Why couldn't the first other person from Amestris have been Ed? Or Winry?]
So... [ Betty's smile is steadfast as ever—even through the shivering—though it might be a little more awkward than usual. After all, she's barely gotten the hang of using this weird, magic metal square. It still feels like she's just talking to herself. But at least the video function is easier for her to work than text. And she likes being able to see people's faces.
The wind gives a persistent howl, making her flinch and attempt to nestle deeper into the bit of semi-shelter she's found (a little cranny just big enough for a smidgen like her). She continues on, of course, drowning out the wind with a renewed energy in her voice. ]
If you could choose any way to, ya know, go, what would it be? And none of that "peacefully in my sleep" stuff either—everyone knows that doesn't count! [ Maybe she doesn't often face such an inevitable (not to mention slow and painful) doom, but Betty's damn sure no stranger to death. With a career like hers, you kinda have to develop a sense of humor about it.
Gods know she could use a laugh right now. ]
three
It wasn't too close to dark yet. But the weather had taken a turn for the worse early today, and it wasn't showing signs of letting up. Already, it was bad enough that anyone out here would make a beeline for shelter. As long as a place looked warm, who could care about who or what was already in there? Of course, in Betty's case, it was the disturbed snow and warm glow in the window—any sign that a living person might have been in there right now—that drew her to this building.
She barely made a noise as she was approaching, so it probably seemed like the wind itself suddenly flung the door open. But! Sure enough, as if blown in along with the snow and cold, in stumbled a small figure bundled up in a coat that fit more like a dress on her. It took a moment, but with a grunt and a shove she got the door closed behind her. Immediately, wide blue eyes scanned the room, settling very quickly on its other occupant.
"Oh thank the gods," she sighed heavily, slumping back against the door as a tired (but relieved) smile spread across her face, "Now tell me you've found booze in here and I'll freakin' kiss you."
[The last house Bard searched had been completely inadequate for sheltering overnight. He'd doubled back, but the going had been precarious--turns out his luck wasn't strong enough to miss that snow-buried ditch twice--and now he was stuck outside after nightfall.
Lovely.
He's hollowed out a cold little cave for himself overnight, but the bitter cold of the air and the fresh falling snow indicate he won't be able to afford sleep this night. He must keep himself distracted, so he turns to the network for company.]
What do you call it when you narrowly escape burning to death only to freeze instead?
(Network: Two)
[Bard's hardly the nomadic sort, so as soon as he found this place--within safe distance of a cache of supplies, the furniture unbroken, the toilet working, and no major holes in the external walls, aka the only four things he really needs--he'd taken claim of it. Unfortunately, the hallucinations are starting to set in, so now it's time to consult the other people possessing these clever little real versions of Seeing Stones.]
Do any among you have experience with spirits? It would seem I am being haunted.
[Normally at this point he would roll his eyes and keep flipping on to other communications. Because this query clearly belongs to someone who must be a lunatic. Or is simply trying to mess around as a joke.
But enough time has passed and he's seen enough of the stranger arrivals around here that he's starting to feel...uneasy about the prospect of dismissing everything out of hand.]
[ Tim has been here a matter of days and has already suffered his first death. Waking up in the morgue isn't exactly the most pleasant experience he's ever had. It isn't the worst, either, but it's definitely a generous handful of shitsprinkles on the crap sundae that is his life. It really doesn't help that he seems to be deaf now, but hey. He'll deal with that after he's--
Oh.
Oh no.
After frantically patting his pockets, Tim grabs for his tablet and begins typing. He doesn't like asking for help, but this is an emergency. ]
TW: does anybody have a cigarette? will trade food/water/etc thanks
[Action: Masky prompt edition]
[ Masky doesn't know where it is.
It's aware that it isn't where it should be. This place is different - cold, desolate. Even the air feels different; crisper and yet more dead than it's used to. Abandoned houses aren't new, but this particular one is definitely a place it's never been before. Still: it would be quite comfortable here if it hadn't been cut off from everything it knows.
Its only priority now, then, is survival. It knows how to do that by now. Its host will need food, water, shelter. It will have to ensure that it gets all these things, while rigorously defending what it already has.
Simple enough.
It's getting close to night time. Anyone wandering into the wrong building tonight might notice that it's already occupied by a masked figure sitting silently in a darkened corner. Spooky. ]
[It's taken a lot of searching and wandering around freezing his ass off, but Jay is finally pretty sure that he's located the house Tim is staying at.
He's still a little cautious when he walks in, since you can never be sure what you'll find in a place like this. And, of course, he's filming everything on his tablet. That practically goes without saying.]
Tim?
[Just as he's calling out, he sees the masked figure.
Shit. What should he do? Should he try to reach out to Tim, try to snap him out of it? Is there any chance of that working?]
[ When his traveling companion slips away quietly into death, the clock on the tablet reads 8:44PM. He remains unshaken, acknowledging the fact that he’ll soon join her with grim acceptance. After years of expecting every day to be his last, he can hardly quail in the face of the end now. Instead, a humorless smile stiffens his countenance. Dozens of expeditions beyond the wall, he reflects, and this is how he’s to finally die. So be it—but he refuses to simply roll over and take it like some beaten mutt.
There’s little he can do for the woman. Carefully, he removes the muffler from her person and loops it around his neck, tucking it into his coat. It smells distinctly like her and he almost recoils, unsettled in spite of himself. Once he recovers, he performs an impersonal pat-down in search of anything he can use. If what they’ve been led to believe is true, he should be able to return her belongings in the morgue. Unfortunately, there’s nothing of note. He takes a moment to fold her hands over her chest, pauses to gaze at her in somber silence, and then he’s moving onward.
Levi trudges through the banking snowdrifts, sick with the knowledge that he never learned her name. They’d stumbled into each other by chance, she with an injury from a fall and he with no answers after hours of scouting. The choice had been obvious: Leave her behind, find shelter immediately. She was a liability, would only slow him down—in stopping to help her, he’d condemn them both to death. Yet Erwin hadn’t been present to make the call, to further harden the heart Levi had given up to a greater purpose a near decade ago. Levi had remained. Levi had helped. His only regret, he thinks, is that he could not get them to safety in time.
Aware that all buildings will already be on lockdown, he retrieves the tablet to send out a message. His screenname (the default “Levi” that inaction had forced the network to select) will accompany a brief audio transmission. ]
If you’re still outside, report in. I’ll meet up with you.
[ For all his lacking social graces, Levi would prefer not to greet death alone. ]
THREE; action
[ Should your character enter this particular house at this particular time, they will find a man taking a makeshift machete to the furniture rather aggressively. At first sight, his diminutive stature might fool a stranger into perceiving him as an adolescent. When he glances up to scrutinize your character, however, there is nothing suggesting youth in the flinty, hard pinch of his narrowed eyes. ]
Well? [ he demands sharply. A thunk as he cleaves a wooden couch leg in two. ] Either get in or get out, but shut the damn door.
[ Your character may notice that there is no firewood available. Clearly, he intends to make do with the furniture in lieu of proper kindling. Unfortunately, Levi’s recent death and subsequent personal loss has left him in a foul mood; since waking in the morgue, he’s been unable to recall Isabel and Farlan’s faces, or those of any from the original Special Ops Squad. Barely restrained cold fury rolls off him in waves—a palpable presence in the much too small building. The memories of his fallen comrades…for such a precious thing to be stolen from him, for their bequeathed resolve to be taken away…
Thunk.
Honestly, the raw elements outside may be more comfortable to bear at this point than sharing space with Levi. ]
WILDCARD; action or network
( OOC | choose your own adventure! PM me if you'd like to plan or discuss anything! c: )
[ By contrast, Cosima is a woman who, despite nearing thirty, regularly plays the part of an adolescent. Friendly, outgoing awkwardness couched by colloquialisms, childish demonstrations of independence and a too-open heart will do that. The moment she enters, she’s a little distracted - the sudden rush of minimal warmth from being indoors is enough to fog her glasses and render herself nearly blinded. Distracted, irritated, cold, hungry and tired of this place - ]
Yeah, okay.
[ Once her glasses are clear, her hands fall from her face. ]
Chill, dude.
[ The door is pushed in a way that’s meant to be trying, exaggerated, and slams hard enough to rattle the door frame. That done, she moves away from whatever he’s doing to start going through the overhead cupboards - the ones she can reach, anyway. Congratulations, Levi. You found someone shorter than you.
Carelessly, she allows the last cupboard door to knock closed, not bothering to be soft or quiet with it. ]
[Hijikata sat on a wooden chair, his elbows resting on the small and battered dinner table in front of him. The man's tablet was just out of reach, and he glared at it with eyes heavy with fatigue. The twig in his mouth tasted foul, small splinters of wood slopping off of it to wedge themselves in the back of his throat. He fiddled with it, two fingers closing around it as if it were a cigarette.
As if he could forget what they tasted like.
Every damn day he only found himself focusing on the memory of tobacco drifting into his mouth more and more.
His tongue rolled over the base of the stick, curling back in mild disgust. Hijikata groaned. He dragged his hands from the table to press his palms into the chair, scooting it away from the table. He slipped, jerking into a slouch and yanking his hands away. The wood was wet. Somehow.
Hijikata stared at his hands, squinting at the sheen of sweet smelling liquid that coated them. The room was dark, he had to strain his eyes to get a good look. When he finally glanced away, a shadow stood right next to him.]
AUGH!!! [His chair clattered to the ground and the man's body nearly fell with it. Hijikata scuffed his feet as he leapt away from the figure. He stared at it, eyes wide and intense as if breaking his gaze would release it to attack. Strain grew and his eyes stung - he had to blink. Hijikata skewed his face, straining his lips and eyebrows into a truly terrifying monstrosity of an expression to milk every second of sight from his eyes. He could feel his eyelids drooping, his reflexes taking over. The man let out a strained growl, locked in a battle of life and death with himself and his stupid bodily functions. His teeth snapped the twig in his mouth, sending the small piece of wood clattering to the ground.
He lost.
As soon as he blinked the figure was gone, leaving a wet mess on the ground where it had been standing.
Hijikata about did too. But no one needed to know that.
He forced a smirk, rolling his shoulders and correcting his posture. That was stupid - a ghost - it was just his eyes adjusting to the light after staring at his hands for so long. Sure he was up in some creepy mountain, stranded and alone in the first cabin he'd found but...spirits weren't real. If anything, it was an alien. No, wait, it was his eyes adjusting to the light.
A shaking (it was cold!) hand reached towards his tablet on the table, though Hijikata himself kept his body as far away from it as possible. He didn't need the distraction, or anything, he just figured he'd check to see if anything actually helpful had been posted. Probably not.
The first thing he saw was a ghost story.
Hijikata slammed his hand into the device so hard he nearly knocked it from his grasp and to the ground.]
If you've got time to be telling stupid stories like that, then start looking harder for food and shelter! Or at least put something constructive on the network. [Leave it to a bunch of faceless idiots on the internet to take something that could have been a useful reference tool for the surrounding area and make it into an asinine message board.
He'd beat some organization and focus into them if he had to! The network was a place for serious questions and forum discussion.]
[Incidentally, Gintoki had just been searching for a space where he could toss in his thoughts about the ghost story that had popped up. He'd hoped someone else would develop the drive to address it first, as it was always easier to chime in rather than lead the charge.
And, as fate would have it, such a man made his appearance! Gintoki was quick to add his complaints. Not that he had been particularly effected by the story. No, no not at all. His blood sugar was just low, which had made him jumpy and irritable.]
Something constructive like devising a way to make snowcones from the snow. Those with a sweet tooth could finally be sated, and productivity would skyrocket from there. Even by just putting up a ghost story, our ability to work had been infringed. Who could concentrate to that? Not that it was scary. It was just too inane.
Use your creativity for better things![The wind howled at the side of Gintoki's cabin. He jumped, smashed the space key in a panic. He never bothered to fix it.] Nevermind cigarettes, did someone manage to pack any snacks?
[Losing track of time is surprisingly easy, Neku has found. For all that he's tried, obsessively looking at the tablet and trying to figure out how long it would take to get back to shelter before cutoff, he's lost time in looking for something to eat. But he hasn't eaten all day. He's starving and cold, and like hell he's going to let both get the better of him.
But it's too late. He didn't find anything usable, and now, he's trapped outside. None of the buildings have any entrances he can get into, not even a hole in the wall or a basement stairwell to huddle in. Shibuya never has winters this bad, and even with the coat on, it isn't doing much to keep out the cold. If he can't find some way of finding heat, he isn't going to make it through the night.
... relying on other people... is still something new. But if he's going to survive this, he has to try. He doesn't want to die from exposure. Not after all he's been through.]
... h-hey. So, uh. Is... is anyone else stuck out here?
[A shiver wracks his body, and he curls in more on himself, closing his eyes for a moment.]
Anyone else n-not from a place that's used to this kind of weather?
[ t h r e e ]
[Finding a place to stay is Neku's biggest goal at this point in time. Rather, finding a decent place to stay, one that has a chance at warmth and not starving and possibly some running water while he's at it. Because hey, it's been too long since he could actually shower. He could probably use one, even if it is a cold one. Actually finding a place like that, though, seems to be a slim chance, if not flat out nonexistent.
Or, it was. But this place he's standing in now seems to be just what he's looking for. A nice fireplace, some wood...! Maybe this place is abandoned. Maybe someone meant to use it and then just... didn't. He's pretty sure no one is here. But how long has this firewood been sitting out? ... maybe it would be safer to check, just in case.
Keeping his bag on him, Neku moves through the house, first focusing on the kitchen before other areas. If whoever lived here last left some food in the cabinets, he's going to take it. He can take jabs all day long about how skinny he is, because back at home he just didn't care, but here he really, really could use something on his bones. Cold isn't too kind on him.]
Even before he gained the power to become a human (?) fireball, winter days and nights were spent huddled beneath five layers of blankets in front of the family fireplace. Needless to say, when he arrived in Norfinbury and was greeted with what seemed like an eternal winter, he was not at all pleased. But thanks to his own physical and mental fortitude (and his deliciously warm Organization coat), Lea has been able to make it up to this point almost none the worse for wear. Why, he’s even started to grow a little bit accustomed to the constant sensation that the wind is threatening to freeze him to the core.
Doesn’t mean that he won’t haul ass to a fireplace when he sees one, though, of course.
Lea had just shut the door behind him when he heard a noise from somewhere in the semi-darkness. He stopped moving immediately, frost-dulled senses on high alert. He was totally down with sharing a couple of hours with another human being, if only to fill the void in is heart that desperately yearned for companionship – but he also knew that he probably shouldn’t get his hopes up.
What comes to greet him is a tiny teenager wrapped in a raggedy blanket, a few pieces of wood in her arms. She looks a bit surprised at the intrusion, big red eyes regarding the strange man curiously for a few seconds before deeming him acceptable company for the evening.
(It wasn't that much of a feat-- the girl found out rather quickly that loneliness wasn't something that suited her all that well.)
network two; I hear footsteps behind me. I wonder who it could be, I wonder.
[Rena wonders, but she doesn't. She knows whose footsteps they are. Why they're always there, always just one step behind her. Oyashiro-sama is angry with her. She's left the village once more. Rena has thrown away that happiness that she had worked so hard to cling to.
She'd always known that it would disappear one day, that things would wind up like this, but she'd hoped to hold onto it for a little while long. Just a little while, just one more day, always asking for just one more day to come and go without incident.]
action three; [Days like today might have once been turned into a pleasant affair. Small pleasures could be found in even the harshest of winters, with ice and snow becoming a time to curl up with hot chocolate and play games and simply take comfort in the presence of friends and loved ones to pass the time before the storm passed. It was something that should always pass, that she could always hope would pass. Now though...
Now there's only a sense of nostalgia for those days, which had come and gone far too quickly. Rena can only be glad for the warmth of the fireplace and the small comforts that the house she'd found provided. With time, she might fill it up. She might make it a home (or perhaps she should leave it as is, so as not to forget the one she has to go back to.) She rubs her hands before extending her palms before the fire, jumps at the sound of the door creaking open behind her and shivers at the sudden chill in the air.
By the time she turns her head, arms wrapping around her thin body and rubbing her arms her misgivings have been carefully tucked away, replaced by the face of someone being intruded upon by a somewhat thoughtless friend.]
Uwah.... C-close the door! It's freezing outside...
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
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