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?
[ She's rooted to the floor and unable to move, but the moment he expresses uncertainty and suggests he might leave, Mirena takes a step toward him. ]
— No! No, you must stay. [ she stops, takes a breath, reins it in a bit; her next words are quieter. ] It's cold, outside. You'll freeze before you reach the next shelter.
[ She takes him in visually, her eyes moving over his hair, his rugged clothing, cataloging every minute similarity and difference — but it's his eyes that transfix her. They look so much like Vlad's. She swallows. ]
You should stay the night.
Edited 2015-05-15 06:57 (UTC)
then again he couldn't afford one in the first place
[She's right enough about the freezing part--at this late hour, he'll likely be caught locked outside before he can make it to the next suitable building, and he's ill prepared to handle the bitter cold come nightfall. The way she looks at him as if she recognizes him is off-putting, but if she turns out to be a madwoman he thinks he'll be able to handle himself.]
My thanks. I'm called Bard. [He takes off his pack as he speaks, but not his coat just yet. Just in case.]
gird your loins, bard!! also it's okay, wood is the new silver she's heard
[ She's half-expecting him to say Vlad, when he speaks, but when he says another name, Mirena nods stiffly and acts for all the world as though she weren't just ready to run and leap into his arms at his introduction. ]
Mirena...of Wallachia. [ She searches his face for some recognition of her name and their province, but looks away briefly when she sees none. ]
There's ample clothing, and blankets, and there is soup over the small cookfire in the other room; you're welcome to whatever you would like.
[ The blanket surrounding her small frame is pulled more tightly around herself, and Mirena watches him carefully under lowered brows. ] There is also a hearth with a fire already built, but that, you are required to share.
[Well. The tension in the room seems to change when he gives what is undoubtedly the wrong name and fails to recognize hers in turn, but there's no actual hostility as far as Bard can tell; he'll probably survive the night here. He steps aside, thinking to go ahead and get some of that soup, but keeps talking in hopes of further easing the atmosphere.]
It's lucky that I'm here and not one of my recent neighbors, or you'd find yourself with someone who's not very good at sharing.
[ She's hospitable, willing to share, but she eyes him now with a strange — and what must be confusing, for him — combination of adoration and wariness as he moves toward the small kitchenette where the soup sits on the stove. ]
Your recent neighbors? [ she asks, slightly confused. If he's referring to neighbors, it's not likely he means this cold land; the houses and shelters are spaced very far apart from one another.
She eyes him again, sizing him up. ] ...Will you not remove your coat?
[It would be kind of rude to leave his coat on now, so Bard takes it off and drapes it over the back of a rickety-looking chair on his way to the kitchenette (which is honestly a full kitchen by his modest standards).]
Back home. The Master of Lake-town, who taxed us until we couldn't see straight; the dragon Smaug, who ransacked Dale and Erebor for all their treasures, as dragons do; and Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Erebor, who contracted the dragon-sickness and so refused to honor his debts to my people.
[As he talks, he finds a bowl in the cabinets and a spoon in a drawer and, lacking a ladle because apparently whoever used to live here didn't believe in such things, carefully pours himself some soup. He really is hungry after trudging through the snow all day, but even if he weren't it would be easier than acknowledging the way Mirena continues to look at him as if she knows his face.]
[ He removes his coat, hanging it on a chair, and Mirena unintentionally lets a sigh of relief escape her; fortunately it's nearly covered by his casual words as Bard makes his way to the kitchenette, and she's able to focus on what he says enough to reply with some incredulity. ]
Dragon? [ She can't help the note of disbelief, nor the small smirk that quirks her lips. ] You speak as though such a creature actually exists; it cannot be possible.
[ Then his last words sink in, and she follows him on tentative feet into the kitchen to ask of them. ] ...You made mention of your people. Are you a prince?
[He can't fault Mirena for not believing dragons existed; Smaug had slept so long that many in Lake-town thought the same until he showed up and burned everything down.
Bard turns to return his full attention to the conversation, leaning against the counter by the stove so he doesn't have to travel far for seconds.]
I am a bargeman and a bowman, or I was until very recently. If I call those people my own, it is because I count myself one of them. [The complete answer is more complicated, but he's going to eat a little first.]
[ She takes small, measured steps toward him; he's engrossed in eating even as he explains his vocation to her, so she thinks perhaps he won't notice her coming discreetly closer. ]
My husband was a prince, [ she volunteers, and then catches herself - ] — is a prince. I suppose I'm just accustomed to hearing that phrase from him and not considering its alternate meaning.
[ She lets her eyes rake over him again, her wariness slowly easing into curiosity. He's leaner than Vlad but no less handsome, and it makes her vaguely wonder if there are scars under the loose jerkin he wears beneath his tattered coat. ] I should be thankful that you are not as your neighbors were, then.
[ ...even though she's still not buying the dragon story, Bard. ]
["Was". The moment he hears that word, Bard forgives all of Mirena's strangeness. Grief--for that is what he now assumes to be the primary trouble here--can change a person profoundly, and he imagines being spirited away into a harsh and unfamiliar new setting only compounds the effect.]
[ Something about him profoundly changes at her words; his entire countenance changes to reflect something more sorrowful, and when he asks her whether she's lost her husband, she suddenly understands how it was misconstrued.
She ducks her head down, thoughtfully. ] He was gone when I had been stolen from the siege of our castle; he'd sworn when he'd departed that he would find a means with which to fight the Turks.
[ She looks up, determined. ] But I know he still lives — I know it. I know he'll return and will mourn my absence, even if the castle is shelled to ruin and rubble, first.
[Bard has made it out of too many bad situations himself to doubt the foundation of Mirena's faith, so he gives her an apologetic nod.]
Then I hope we find a way out of here soon enough that he'll have nothing to mourn but his own absence from the side of such a kind woman. [And that's not just a line to play nice with the hostess; he totally means it.]
[ She allows a small curving upwards of her lips. He barely knows her, has no cause to flatter her, so she takes his words as they are offered; as a kindness.
It's her further thoughts, though, that cause her smile to fade. ]
It is not just my husband I fear for. My son has been left alone, as our enemies stand outside our gates — my son, whom the Sultan wished to take prisoner as a Janissary. I would have never left his side. But... [ ruefully, ] I suppose we have no control over that, none of us who've been brought here, that is.
[The finer points of her concern escape Bard's grasp, but the broader theme--worry for a child left vulnerable to the dangers of the world--is one that's dogged his mind every day since arriving here. He looks down briefly into his bowl, suddenly not so sure he'll be in the mood for more soup.]
My own children are alone while I'm here. I think our people and neighbors will be kind to them, since we've all recently come through war and dragonfire together, and they are each capable in their own way, but I'm all they've had for a long time, so I can't help but worry.
[ And now the tables are turned, between them; Mirena's eyes turn even more forlorn when she sees him stare vacantly into his bowl of soup as he speaks of his children, and especially when he refers to himself as their sole parent.
Her heart goes out to him. How often had she worried that the Sultan would come for Vlad once more, to lead the Janissaries in battle, leaving her alone for the rest of her life with Ingeras? If duty called he was obligated to respond, and although Bard's situation is different, she feels the depth of his loss as keenly as if it were her own. ]
...I'm sorry. [ She comes closer, near enough to place her fingers on the arm of his hand that holds the soup bowl. ] I know what you must be feeling. If your children have been through so much, then they are resilient — but it is a parent's job to worry, to always be concerned for them. [ Her voice is soft and a bit sad. ] We have no choice in the matter.
— Come, [ she entreats, ducking her head and tugging gently at his arm, now. ] Sit by the fire, with me. You're still chilled.
[It puts them back on even footing, at least: not a princess and a whatever Bard is right now, but people worrying about their kids while stuck in this frozen ghost town. A straggling band of orcs, a vicious storm, or even a poorly-timed flu could take any or all of his children this very night, and he wouldn't even have the means to find out.
But, as he reminds himself every night and as Mirena is reminding him now, there is also no reason to assume the worst. Not when Sigrid can turn anything into a blunt instrument, Bain has proven he can use a sword, Tilda is slippery as an eel, and all the peoples of the region are working together again. His children are as well-off as they could hope to be in his absence, truly.
Bard pulls himself together when Mirena tugs at his arm--perhaps a little too familiar, but for now they are friends in their shared suffering, so he lets it go unmentioned--and sets aside his bowl, which he seems to have emptied without noticing. He is still cold despite it, so the fire will be welcome, and he leaves the kitchen to seek it out.]
Thank you. I would say I'm not usually this grim, but back home I'm a very unpopular drunk.
[ Bard's children would sound better off by that description than Ingeras would — at least they can defend themselves from various foes, orcs or otherwise. She simply chooses not to think on how the Sultan and his armies could take her son easily, and she would never be the wiser for it in this frigid place.
But the safehouse is not so frigid, at least; it's cozy and insulated, and there is a warm hearth in the back of the house, which she leads him to — releasing his arm, though, because he may get the wrong idea if she seems too taken with touching him — when he makes a move to set down his bowl and follow her. He's tired as well as cold, Mirena can see from the lines on his face. ]
...Then it is a good thing we are without wine, tonight, [ said with a small smirk. His levity is welcome, after such a gravid subject.
She leads him down the hallway to the bedroom with the wood-burning fireplace, and takes one of the extra blankets off of the bed upon entering; when he draws nearer to the hearth and sits down before it, she drapes the blanket over his shoulders.
...Yes, maybe she's fussing over him, just a little. ]
Although any man who spins tales of dragons cannot possibly be that grim, even when drunk, I would imagine.
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
at least he wouldn't have to take off his silver wedding ring, either
— No! No, you must stay. [ she stops, takes a breath, reins it in a bit; her next words are quieter. ] It's cold, outside. You'll freeze before you reach the next shelter.
[ She takes him in visually, her eyes moving over his hair, his rugged clothing, cataloging every minute similarity and difference — but it's his eyes that transfix her. They look so much like Vlad's. She swallows. ]
You should stay the night.
then again he couldn't afford one in the first place
My thanks. I'm called Bard. [He takes off his pack as he speaks, but not his coat just yet. Just in case.]
gird your loins, bard!! also it's okay, wood is the new silver she's heard
Mirena...of Wallachia. [ She searches his face for some recognition of her name and their province, but looks away briefly when she sees none. ]
There's ample clothing, and blankets, and there is soup over the small cookfire in the other room; you're welcome to whatever you would like.
[ The blanket surrounding her small frame is pulled more tightly around herself, and Mirena watches him carefully under lowered brows. ] There is also a hearth with a fire already built, but that, you are required to share.
/armadillos through the night
It's lucky that I'm here and not one of my recent neighbors, or you'd find yourself with someone who's not very good at sharing.
/pets his hard...shell
Your recent neighbors? [ she asks, slightly confused. If he's referring to neighbors, it's not likely he means this cold land; the houses and shelters are spaced very far apart from one another.
She eyes him again, sizing him up. ] ...Will you not remove your coat?
/offended spluttering, etc.
Back home. The Master of Lake-town, who taxed us until we couldn't see straight; the dragon Smaug, who ransacked Dale and Erebor for all their treasures, as dragons do; and Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Erebor, who contracted the dragon-sickness and so refused to honor his debts to my people.
[As he talks, he finds a bowl in the cabinets and a spoon in a drawer and, lacking a ladle because apparently whoever used to live here didn't believe in such things, carefully pours himself some soup. He really is hungry after trudging through the snow all day, but even if he weren't it would be easier than acknowledging the way Mirena continues to look at him as if she knows his face.]
/sultry grinning >:3
Dragon? [ She can't help the note of disbelief, nor the small smirk that quirks her lips. ] You speak as though such a creature actually exists; it cannot be possible.
[ Then his last words sink in, and she follows him on tentative feet into the kitchen to ask of them. ] ...You made mention of your people. Are you a prince?
[
not a very fashionable one, though, is he.]no subject
Bard turns to return his full attention to the conversation, leaning against the counter by the stove so he doesn't have to travel far for seconds.]
I am a bargeman and a bowman, or I was until very recently. If I call those people my own, it is because I count myself one of them. [The complete answer is more complicated, but he's going to eat a little first.]
no subject
My husband was a prince, [ she volunteers, and then catches herself - ] — is a prince. I suppose I'm just accustomed to hearing that phrase from him and not considering its alternate meaning.
[ She lets her eyes rake over him again, her wariness slowly easing into curiosity. He's leaner than Vlad but no less handsome, and it makes her vaguely wonder if there are scars under the loose jerkin he wears beneath his tattered coat. ] I should be thankful that you are not as your neighbors were, then.
[ ...even though she's still not buying the dragon story, Bard. ]
no subject
Did you lose him recently?
no subject
She ducks her head down, thoughtfully. ] He was gone when I had been stolen from the siege of our castle; he'd sworn when he'd departed that he would find a means with which to fight the Turks.
[ She looks up, determined. ] But I know he still lives — I know it. I know he'll return and will mourn my absence, even if the castle is shelled to ruin and rubble, first.
no subject
Then I hope we find a way out of here soon enough that he'll have nothing to mourn but his own absence from the side of such a kind woman. [And that's not just a line to play nice with the hostess; he totally means it.]
no subject
It's her further thoughts, though, that cause her smile to fade. ]
It is not just my husband I fear for. My son has been left alone, as our enemies stand outside our gates — my son, whom the Sultan wished to take prisoner as a Janissary. I would have never left his side. But... [ ruefully, ] I suppose we have no control over that, none of us who've been brought here, that is.
no subject
My own children are alone while I'm here. I think our people and neighbors will be kind to them, since we've all recently come through war and dragonfire together, and they are each capable in their own way, but I'm all they've had for a long time, so I can't help but worry.
no subject
Her heart goes out to him. How often had she worried that the Sultan would come for Vlad once more, to lead the Janissaries in battle, leaving her alone for the rest of her life with Ingeras? If duty called he was obligated to respond, and although Bard's situation is different, she feels the depth of his loss as keenly as if it were her own. ]
...I'm sorry. [ She comes closer, near enough to place her fingers on the arm of his hand that holds the soup bowl. ] I know what you must be feeling. If your children have been through so much, then they are resilient — but it is a parent's job to worry, to always be concerned for them. [ Her voice is soft and a bit sad. ] We have no choice in the matter.
— Come, [ she entreats, ducking her head and tugging gently at his arm, now. ] Sit by the fire, with me. You're still chilled.
no subject
But, as he reminds himself every night and as Mirena is reminding him now, there is also no reason to assume the worst. Not when Sigrid can turn anything into a blunt instrument, Bain has proven he can use a sword, Tilda is slippery as an eel, and all the peoples of the region are working together again. His children are as well-off as they could hope to be in his absence, truly.
Bard pulls himself together when Mirena tugs at his arm--perhaps a little too familiar, but for now they are friends in their shared suffering, so he lets it go unmentioned--and sets aside his bowl, which he seems to have emptied without noticing. He is still cold despite it, so the fire will be welcome, and he leaves the kitchen to seek it out.]
Thank you. I would say I'm not usually this grim, but back home I'm a very unpopular drunk.
no subject
But the safehouse is not so frigid, at least; it's cozy and insulated, and there is a warm hearth in the back of the house, which she leads him to — releasing his arm, though, because he may get the wrong idea if she seems too taken with touching him — when he makes a move to set down his bowl and follow her. He's tired as well as cold, Mirena can see from the lines on his face. ]
...Then it is a good thing we are without wine, tonight, [ said with a small smirk. His levity is welcome, after such a gravid subject.
She leads him down the hallway to the bedroom with the wood-burning fireplace, and takes one of the extra blankets off of the bed upon entering; when he draws nearer to the hearth and sits down before it, she drapes the blanket over his shoulders.
...Yes, maybe she's fussing over him, just a little. ]
Although any man who spins tales of dragons cannot possibly be that grim, even when drunk, I would imagine.