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?
[ The image that blinks onto the network is a little wobbly, as well as hard to make out. The room is dark, and the feeble light of a fire in the hearth isn't soaked up very well by the little camera recording the image. There's another light, a thin, wobbly finger of flame off a candle.
There's an empty chair. An old, faded rug. A fraction of a window. Nothing else.
The image shifts, like the person holding it is adjusting how they sit. Then finally, a voice, a prim English accent; ]
It doesn't feel any warmer in here, honestly. It's going to be a very long night of freezing my bollocks off and getting to live another day to do the same thing all over again.
[ If he's bitter, it's veiled rather well in dry humour. ]
Pressing question, though. What do you see?
[ Ostensibly, reference to the empty room. ]
Because I might be going mad.
THREE: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The fire has gone down low, a fistful of embers still burning away, and the heat has long since sapped out of the room. Cautious but unable to be completely quiet -- he can't quite feel his feet enough to be delicate in his foot falls, and the floorboards just creak like so -- Charles approaches the hearth, ducking down to hover a gloved hand over what little warmth there might be.
A poker is taken from beside the hearth, and he pokes at the dwindled remnants of fire, sparks stirring. With any luck, whoever was here last has moved on, and Charles can claim for himself a place to stay for a little while.
Of course, this isn't a place of good fortune.
At the first sign of another presence -- a foot step, a door open, even a voice -- he is on his feet, hand wrapping tighter around metal, eyes guarded, bright, wary.
[ The feed starts out a little uneven on her end, too, but when it settles he isn't treated to a view of another empty room. Instead it's a young woman, blonde hair and blue eyes, eyebrows lowered in a critical expression as she studies the video. ]
I see an empty room. What do you see?
[ She sounds concerned. Well, mostly concerned; she also sounds a tiny bit curious. And, almost as an afterthought, with very little inflection: ] Even if it doesn't feel warmer, it is. You'd be dead within a few hours outside.
[ She knows you were joking, she's just giving you a vaguely chastising downer of an answer anyway. This is a serious situation, quit making jokes. ]
[ Yeah, he sure would be dead. Wouldn't that be nice, not being cold and uncomfortable anymore, and it seems dead people get off rather lightly, in a way. But the most effort Charles feels like giving towards gallows humour is that singular, husky syllable, before ceding victory to the downer blonde girl.
Charles shifts the tablet so that he is in view, not so used to this sort of communication and keeping the tablet at full arms length. Pressing forty, hasn't shaved in a week, but otherwise whole and healthy for someone who suspect they might be going crazy. It's been a few days, since he's travelled. ]
I see an empty room as well, occasionally featuring a sort of-- it's like walls are sort of. Melting.
[ He flips the tablet again, displaying the room. Still just a room. The walls are solid. ]
I suppose it's not terrible that the second opinion is I'm imagining it.
( Lydia ends up sending the reply via text. She wants to hope that she can believe a text reply more - that it would be harder to hallucinate text compared to a voice or face. Logically she knows that assumption is false, but typing also gives her time to pause - for no one to pick up on that )
A fire. But I don't feel it. I don't know if I'm just too cold or if it's not real.
( It isn't real. There hadn't been one lit when she'd hunkered down in the building and she doesn't know how to light one )
[ Lexa actually films herself, though it's dark and she hasn't lit a fire, swaddled in enough clothes and rugs and blankets that it's hard to make out more than her pale face. ]
[ But obligingly, he flips it to show himself. Sleepless and pale and ungroomed, but as healthy as anyone can be under these circumstances. The light sources manage to show him with relative clarity, bright eyes, only half his face shadowed. ]
I was only checking something. Thank you for your cooperation.
[ Something about her reply has him almost laugh; he suppresses this, but it's still a little there, nested in the corner of his mouth, the next exhale. ]
You're not wrong. But I needed a second opinion too.
On the room, but good point. Very resourceful, thank you.
[ Some of those words get lost to muffle, rubbing one side of his face with rough palm, fingers worked along shadowed eye socket. He does need rest. It's hard to accomplish that. ]
There's been reports you can start to see things after a while. I wasn't sure if these incidents, occurring in isolation, were psychological or something else. Something transmittable through video, for instance. Apparently not.
[ Not a footstep or a voice, but the singing scrape of steel on steel as a figure unfolds itself from the floor in the adjacent kitchen.
It’s dark, of course, but Jorah is a big man, and freshly stirred embers take on a rosy glow in the reflection of full plate armor at a distance. He’s almost to his feet before the metal gives him away, drawing up like a bear amidst shattered furniture and cabinet doors ripped from their hinges.
His breath fans heavy and thick through his nose, air in and steam out. He looks disoriented.
And impossible to know without telepathy, where everyone now seems reduced to big blocks of dead meat (and heavy steel and thick steam, in this case). Charles sort of gamely lifts not-even-hot poker more to show he has it as opposed to inviting a fight with a man who appears to be approximately twice his size. His gaze is sharp and bright with adrenaline as he tries to take in what paltry information is to be had when he isn't allowed to cheat anymore.
It's more the warmth from the hearth than real bravery or defense of territory that has him continue to stand his ground as the stranger gets to his feet. ]
Are you alright, [ is a question, but comes out sort of flat. ]
The heavy plate shaped over his shoulders articulates aggression in broad strokes; he bunches muscle up beneath it like a horse steeling himself to kick. ]
Why have you brought me here.
[ The rumble of his voice is low and rough and all about that bass (no treble) -- but he hasn’t advanced, and the scabbard at his hip is empty. ]
[ Pardon? is what Charles doesn't say. Lingering, uncertain silence hangs in place of it, silent frustration mounting as tension coiled in his shoulders. Each exhale becomes steam, evaporates.
The hand not holding the poker in defensive stance rises up to splay gloved fingers. Easy. ]
I haven't brought you anywhere. I thought this place was empty.
[ The pokey part of the poker lowers a few inches, pointing more for beat up hard wood than the man in shining armour. ]
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
charles xavier. x-men: movies.
There's an empty chair. An old, faded rug. A fraction of a window. Nothing else.
The image shifts, like the person holding it is adjusting how they sit. Then finally, a voice, a prim English accent; ]
It doesn't feel any warmer in here, honestly. It's going to be a very long night of freezing my bollocks off and getting to live another day to do the same thing all over again.
[ If he's bitter, it's veiled rather well in dry humour. ]
Pressing question, though. What do you see?
[ Ostensibly, reference to the empty room. ]
Because I might be going mad.The fire has gone down low, a fistful of embers still burning away, and the heat has long since sapped out of the room. Cautious but unable to be completely quiet -- he can't quite feel his feet enough to be delicate in his foot falls, and the floorboards just creak like so -- Charles approaches the hearth, ducking down to hover a gloved hand over what little warmth there might be.
A poker is taken from beside the hearth, and he pokes at the dwindled remnants of fire, sparks stirring. With any luck, whoever was here last has moved on, and Charles can claim for himself a place to stay for a little while.
Of course, this isn't a place of good fortune.
At the first sign of another presence -- a foot step, a door open, even a voice -- he is on his feet, hand wrapping tighter around metal, eyes guarded, bright, wary.
two!
I see an empty room. What do you see?
[ She sounds concerned. Well, mostly concerned; she also sounds a tiny bit curious. And, almost as an afterthought, with very little inflection: ] Even if it doesn't feel warmer, it is. You'd be dead within a few hours outside.
[ She knows you were joking, she's just giving you a vaguely chastising downer of an answer anyway. This is a serious situation, quit making jokes. ]
no subject
[ Yeah, he sure would be dead. Wouldn't that be nice, not being cold and uncomfortable anymore, and it seems dead people get off rather lightly, in a way. But the most effort Charles feels like giving towards gallows humour is that singular, husky syllable, before ceding victory to the downer blonde girl.
Charles shifts the tablet so that he is in view, not so used to this sort of communication and keeping the tablet at full arms length. Pressing forty, hasn't shaved in a week, but otherwise whole and healthy for someone who suspect they might be going crazy. It's been a few days, since he's travelled. ]
I see an empty room as well, occasionally featuring a sort of-- it's like walls are sort of. Melting.
[ He flips the tablet again, displaying the room. Still just a room. The walls are solid. ]
I suppose it's not terrible that the second opinion is I'm imagining it.
two. text.
A fire. But I don't feel it. I don't know if I'm just too cold or if it's not real.
( It isn't real. There hadn't been one lit when she'd hunkered down in the building and she doesn't know how to light one )
no subject
are you alone
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
it's psychological
you should try to get some sleep
[ Spake the kettle unto the pot. ]
no subject
I can hear them.
2.
A chair. You have it around the wrong way.
no subject
[ But obligingly, he flips it to show himself. Sleepless and pale and ungroomed, but as healthy as anyone can be under these circumstances. The light sources manage to show him with relative clarity, bright eyes, only half his face shadowed. ]
I was only checking something. Thank you for your cooperation.
no subject
Now I see a man. You need to rest.
no subject
You're not wrong. But I needed a second opinion too.
no subject
no subject
[ Some of those words get lost to muffle, rubbing one side of his face with rough palm, fingers worked along shadowed eye socket. He does need rest. It's hard to accomplish that. ]
There's been reports you can start to see things after a while. I wasn't sure if these incidents, occurring in isolation, were psychological or something else. Something transmittable through video, for instance. Apparently not.
I reckon that's likely a good thing.
three
It’s dark, of course, but Jorah is a big man, and freshly stirred embers take on a rosy glow in the reflection of full plate armor at a distance. He’s almost to his feet before the metal gives him away, drawing up like a bear amidst shattered furniture and cabinet doors ripped from their hinges.
His breath fans heavy and thick through his nose, air in and steam out. He looks disoriented.
It’s probably fine. ]
no subject
And impossible to know without telepathy, where everyone now seems reduced to big blocks of dead meat (and heavy steel and thick steam, in this case). Charles sort of gamely lifts not-even-hot poker more to show he has it as opposed to inviting a fight with a man who appears to be approximately twice his size. His gaze is sharp and bright with adrenaline as he tries to take in what paltry information is to be had when he isn't allowed to cheat anymore.
It's more the warmth from the hearth than real bravery or defense of territory that has him continue to stand his ground as the stranger gets to his feet. ]
Are you alright, [ is a question, but comes out sort of flat. ]
no subject
The heavy plate shaped over his shoulders articulates aggression in broad strokes; he bunches muscle up beneath it like a horse steeling himself to kick. ]
Why have you brought me here.
[ The rumble of his voice is low and rough and all about that bass (no treble) -- but he hasn’t advanced, and the scabbard at his hip is empty. ]
no subject
The hand not holding the poker in defensive stance rises up to splay gloved fingers. Easy. ]
I haven't brought you anywhere. I thought this place was empty.
[ The pokey part of the poker lowers a few inches, pointing more for beat up hard wood than the man in shining armour. ]
Where were you before?