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?
Let's talk instead about right now, where Shaun, by his estimation, has ended up smack dab in the middle of god-knows-where, instead of his previous location of middle-of-nothing. He worked with death all the time-- though uh, usually not his own-- no big deal. Moving on, more importantly anyway, there's quite a few things that didn't migrate with him.]
In lieu of the traditional avenues of greeting, I'm going to cut right to the chase and make it easy for everybody out there: there is a house, that, by all my approximate calculations, is somewhere to the general west of the morgue (that's the left for anyone who's claimed war on the vocabulary cardinal directions), that I believe I've left some papers at.
For those of you with the behavioural pattern of a five year old, I'll clarify for you that these are not tissue paper. They are in fact important record keeping documents I've been trying to organise since we've all been doomed to the ninth circle of Hell.
If you happen to find them, please don't use them to wipe up your mess.
[prompt three]
[Ugh, he hates moving. He always has to cart his materials around because this place was apparently advanced enough to have the internet but not enough to have a desktop computer. So everything goes into a bag, and he has to move through the snow to somewhere else because apparently everyone here was mental, including himself.
But he's found another building where the walls weren't collapsed or full of holes and decay that would actually keep the wind out, and he's got a map in the making; and he's trying to make some marks (damn pen, running out of ink), when he hears someone else-- stops his actions and slowly turns towards whoever's there.]
Excuse me, d'you mind? I'd rather not engage in some kind of savage warfare for territory right now....
[ Ezio and his Mediterranean constitution is not suited to the harsh, perpetual winter, but he's certainly dressed well enough for it. That's only a small mercy -- all the layers of leather and cloth won't keep him from freezing to death when he's out here for hours upon hours, and that's why he's intended to make his forays into the frozen wastes last as little as possible. Surveying what little of the town is available proves the biggest challenge, the crumbling structures offering poor handholds and even shiftier foundations on which to perch for a proper view. He thought to cross over the heaped snowbanks closing them off from the world beyond, but decided against chancing it. Not while his supplies are so limited, while he still has so little information to go off of now.
The setting sun is what has brought him to this ginger Brit's temporary residence, shaking the snow from his boots, from his shoulders. He pauses at the address, leaning around the small entryway to see the man at his work. Ah. Whoops, but sorry, friend, he's not about to go out when his weird glass artifact is firmly telling him to get inside. ]
Mi scusi, I did not realize anyone was here. It is not my intent to put you out, I have no desire to freeze to death in the dark.
Tall man walking in the middle of the night shrouded in a mysterious hood. Shall I just give you my social security number and make it easier?
[He tilts his head down, quirks an eyebrow and looks at the man as he gestured emptily in the air with his pen.
Still, he's not exactly eager to kick a man out into the cold when the curfew's almost up, so he turns away, his attention back on his scribbled up piece of paper as he continues to speak. Assumably that means he is willing to share the space, for now.]
...Curious wardrobe, though Is it a, uh-- [He glances back a moment, apparently thinking he is looking super subtle.]-- Fashion choice?
[Inquisitive. White hoods had a certain symbolism, usually.]
pfft don't look at him like that, this shit is bespoke
[ He huffs a bit. Ah, he's one of those types. Still, the man is some company after Ezio's had a handful of days spent by himself in the cold -- he hopes his tone is, at least, a little reassuring. ] You are perfectly secure.
[ Don't mind him, Ezio will spare a glance back into the snow, nudge the door closed against the dusk and make his way to the fireplace immediately thereafter. The man's question seems to surprise him a little, and he looks askance at him between stoking the meagre blaze. Really, who taught you how to build a fire? ]
Prego? It is fashionable, where I come from. [ It might be hard to see his eyes in the shadows of his hood, but Ezio's gaze is piercing, studying the young man from the top of his hair right down to his shoes. Everyone in town seems to have been tossed in from different places, different times if he could hazard a guess -- some of those he's seen appear downright medieval -- and the logic would follow that his new overnight buddy followed that trend.
There's no one from Rome here, not a one, he's established that much. It's a bittersweet feeling, that of his being well and truly alone against this unfamiliar place, yet at least Claudia, at least his assassins aren't here to freeze in the snow. Ezio tips his chin up. ] Where do you come from, messere?
oh he will look at you like that with varying degrees of condescension and derision
[Excuse you he has a wide range of varying and useful survival skills and his pitiful fire was totally great and shut up!!]
As secure as you can be in a blizzard trying to ravage a frozen tundra, I suppose. [He shrugs, holding his hands up and out just a bit in something that looks like both defense and dismissal without really committing to either.]
United Kingdom, technically. [Vague enough to work. He wasn't about to give out details of his life, he was smarter than that. Didn't really matter when you were part of a multinational organization trying to hide from an even more multinational organization.]
So, far be it from me to criticize modern Italian fashion. What is that, a new avant-garde Renaissance kind of inspiration?
[There's an upward inflection at the end of his tone as if it really is a question, but it definitely comes on as too facetious; because yeah, seriously not buying that one either. White hoods weren't fashionable. Otherwise why would Desmond be wearing one??]
[ Your fire is shit, sorry not sorry. But that's fine, Ezio's coaxing it into giving off a bit more heat, and will bank it in the night if need be, to keep the coals warm until morning. Firelighting from scratch is a pain in the ass where he's from.
And good God, child, what the Hell are you even saying. His brows knit beneath his hood, and Ezio waves the hand not invested in shifting logs with the fireplace tongs, dismissing the latter part of the man's babble. What the hell does he mean by 'United Kingdom'? ]
[Wow how dare you completely ignore all of his totally clever sass. That's just rude, old man.
He let out a scoff at the question lowering one hand to rest on the back of his hip and fixing his new housemate with a look.]
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Island? Empire on which the sun never sets? Though it's tried its best to move on from its imperial days. Whether that's successful 'sa good a guess as any.
[Said with the tone of 'really, how have you never heard of England before.']
And just where are you from then, Mr. Mystery Man, under a rock?
[Don't jut say 'Italy' he's just about figured that much out already thank you very much.]
[ At that, Ezio sits back on his haunches, his cape pooling at his knees, and looked very much amazed at the man. England? England and Ireland counted as an empire all of a sudden? What sort of hilarious propaganda is that? Henry VII had been an ally to the Assassins almost since the start of his reign, allowing them a seat in his private court once Ezio's apprentices had ferreted out the conspirators against him. Ezio knew England, knew her politics...
But an empire? He scoffed, and added, ]
Rome. It was 1503 where I've come from, if that should make any difference.
[ He then continued beneath his breath, ] Emperor Henry, ridiculous...
[Alright, that's definitely gonna require his full attention. He doesn't even know where to start (though he guesses that would explain the wardrobe), but he turn to face the other man more fully, his hand gestures already starting to scatter all over the air in front of him.]
That's the year Margaret of York and Pope Alexander VI were both assassinated-- well, on top of plenty of other bouts of blood bath of course. No no no, King Henry VII, fine bloke I'm sure, no the roots of the British Empire didn't really take until the reign of Elizabeth I in the latter half of the 16th century, long after Rome flourishes, certainly after 1503--
[Wait a minute. 1503. Right, the year Rodrigo Borgia was killed by Cesare. In Rome. The same year Ezio Auditore was officially promoted to Mentor of the Italian Brotherhood--
There's that definite 'oh shit' moment on Shaun's brain makes a few connections, and he realizes, well damn, this guy he's been talking to for the past five minutes sounds familiar--]
[ Bro have you not noticed the Assassin sigil on his belt? The bracers on his arms? Bless your heart...
Ezio follows the man up until he starts going into tangents again -- by Elizabeth did he mean...no, not the wife of Henry, she's only just died this year -- and blows out a breath. Maybe he would have been better off chancing the snow, if this man's so intent on chattering to himself, Ezio doesn't think he can stand an entire night of this regurgitation of outlandish historical "facts". But then. But then the man stops, and the Mentor has the sense as if he's being well and truly looked at for the first time since he got here.
He's not so sure he likes that look. ]
My name, signore, is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. [ he replies calmly, coolly, darkly for all that. Yes, he definitely doesn't like the man's expression now, finding his sudden enlightenment suspect. ] Have we met before?
[Actual Assassins didn't actually wear Assassin insignias in their normal every day fashion in the modern era. Not unless they wanted to swiped up by Abstergo in the middle of the street.]
Oh my god.
[His voice drops, loses his energy and replaces it with... something like awe, and also dread, and also more revelation, and also "holy shit."
He pulls himself back situating the pen between his fingers so he could rub at his forehead and his temple, and try to process the idea that he had actually been talking to Ezio Auditore da Firenze the whole time.
He's a bit distracted with that-- but pulls his attention back after a moment. ]
Ah, no, no-- I'm, I'm a historian-- well, more of a historical analyst--, from the 21st century. 2013. I've uh-- I've studied your life, your-- career in a manner of speaking. It's part of my job.
[....Well if there was anyone you could trust it was the Mentor. Uh, besides the Al Mualim situation. But they'd documented Ezio pretty damn thoroughly before Desmond.... yeah.]
[Desmond hasn't pulled his hood down yet, but there's both an odd sense of relief and downright amusement at hearing the familiar historian in the middle of this madness.[
Want a pencil? I hear they're what the Russians used when pens didn't cut it.
[Don't ask where he got a pencil from, he's half relying on other people's memories to survive this freezing mess.]
Oh please Desmond, I don't need your sorry attempt at--
[Wait.
Shaun looks all up and ready to gesticulate and go on and on about-- well, a demonstration of how much smarter he is, obviously, but the voice-- the person, one who should've been fried and in some body bag in Abstergo no doubt. He stops, turning around, surprise written on his features as he readjusts his glasses, as if he could be seeing things (please, he wasn't that crazy yet.)]
Well. Yes. Of course it's nice to see me, I may well be a bastion of civilization in this madness.
[Right. Best not to tell someone a story like that when it's about them. He gestures, giving up on the pen as he held it between his fingers.] C'mon now, you're not going to use it.
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
Shaun Hastings | Assassin's Creed
[Yeah well. Let's not talk about yesterday.
Let's talk instead about right now, where Shaun, by his estimation, has ended up smack dab in the middle of god-knows-where, instead of his previous location of middle-of-nothing. He worked with death all the time-- though uh, usually not his own-- no big deal. Moving on, more importantly anyway, there's quite a few things that didn't migrate with him.]
In lieu of the traditional avenues of greeting, I'm going to cut right to the chase and make it easy for everybody out there: there is a house, that, by all my approximate calculations, is somewhere to the general west of the morgue (that's the left for anyone who's claimed war on the vocabulary cardinal directions), that I believe I've left some papers at.
For those of you with the behavioural pattern of a five year old, I'll clarify for you that these are not tissue paper. They are in fact important record keeping documents I've been trying to organise since we've all been doomed to the ninth circle of Hell.
If you happen to find them, please don't use them to wipe up your mess.
[prompt three]
[Ugh, he hates moving. He always has to cart his materials around because this place was apparently advanced enough to have the internet but not enough to have a desktop computer. So everything goes into a bag, and he has to move through the snow to somewhere else because apparently everyone here was mental, including himself.
But he's found another building where the walls weren't collapsed or full of holes and decay that would actually keep the wind out, and he's got a map in the making; and he's trying to make some marks (damn pen, running out of ink), when he hears someone else-- stops his actions and slowly turns towards whoever's there.]
Excuse me, d'you mind? I'd rather not engage in some kind of savage warfare for territory right now....
3 - yo
The setting sun is what has brought him to this ginger Brit's temporary residence, shaking the snow from his boots, from his shoulders. He pauses at the address, leaning around the small entryway to see the man at his work. Ah. Whoops, but sorry, friend, he's not about to go out when his weird glass artifact is firmly telling him to get inside. ]
Mi scusi, I did not realize anyone was here. It is not my intent to put you out, I have no desire to freeze to death in the dark.
eyyyyyy
[He tilts his head down, quirks an eyebrow and looks at the man as he gestured emptily in the air with his pen.
Still, he's not exactly eager to kick a man out into the cold when the curfew's almost up, so he turns away, his attention back on his scribbled up piece of paper as he continues to speak. Assumably that means he is willing to share the space, for now.]
...Curious wardrobe, though Is it a, uh-- [He glances back a moment, apparently thinking he is looking super subtle.]-- Fashion choice?
[Inquisitive. White hoods had a certain symbolism, usually.]
pfft don't look at him like that, this shit is bespoke
[ Don't mind him, Ezio will spare a glance back into the snow, nudge the door closed against the dusk and make his way to the fireplace immediately thereafter. The man's question seems to surprise him a little, and he looks askance at him between stoking the meagre blaze. Really, who taught you how to build a fire? ]
Prego? It is fashionable, where I come from. [ It might be hard to see his eyes in the shadows of his hood, but Ezio's gaze is piercing, studying the young man from the top of his hair right down to his shoes. Everyone in town seems to have been tossed in from different places, different times if he could hazard a guess -- some of those he's seen appear downright medieval -- and the logic would follow that his new overnight buddy followed that trend.
There's no one from Rome here, not a one, he's established that much. It's a bittersweet feeling, that of his being well and truly alone against this unfamiliar place, yet at least Claudia, at least his assassins aren't here to freeze in the snow. Ezio tips his chin up. ] Where do you come from, messere?
oh he will look at you like that with varying degrees of condescension and derision
As secure as you can be in a blizzard trying to ravage a frozen tundra, I suppose. [He shrugs, holding his hands up and out just a bit in something that looks like both defense and dismissal without really committing to either.]
United Kingdom, technically. [Vague enough to work. He wasn't about to give out details of his life, he was smarter than that. Didn't really matter when you were part of a multinational organization trying to hide from an even more multinational organization.]
So, far be it from me to criticize modern Italian fashion. What is that, a new avant-garde Renaissance kind of inspiration?
[There's an upward inflection at the end of his tone as if it really is a question, but it definitely comes on as too facetious; because yeah, seriously not buying that one either. White hoods weren't fashionable. Otherwise why would Desmond be wearing one??]
tch, englishfolk
And good God, child, what the Hell are you even saying. His brows knit beneath his hood, and Ezio waves the hand not invested in shifting logs with the fireplace tongs, dismissing the latter part of the man's babble. What the hell does he mean by 'United Kingdom'? ]
United Kingdom of what?
w o w rude you're rude
He let out a scoff at the question lowering one hand to rest on the back of his hip and fixing his new housemate with a look.]
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Island? Empire on which the sun never sets? Though it's tried its best to move on from its imperial days. Whether that's successful 'sa good a guess as any.
[Said with the tone of 'really, how have you never heard of England before.']
And just where are you from then, Mr. Mystery Man, under a rock?
[Don't jut say 'Italy' he's just about figured that much out already thank you very much.]
love you too man
But an empire? He scoffed, and added, ]
Rome. It was 1503 where I've come from, if that should make any difference.
[ He then continued beneath his breath, ] Emperor Henry, ridiculous...
you're not his REAL Mentor!!
[Alright, that's definitely gonna require his full attention. He doesn't even know where to start (though he guesses that would explain the wardrobe), but he turn to face the other man more fully, his hand gestures already starting to scatter all over the air in front of him.]
That's the year Margaret of York and Pope Alexander VI were both assassinated-- well, on top of plenty of other bouts of blood bath of course. No no no, King Henry VII, fine bloke I'm sure, no the roots of the British Empire didn't really take until the reign of Elizabeth I in the latter half of the 16th century, long after Rome flourishes, certainly after 1503--
[Wait a minute. 1503. Right, the year Rodrigo Borgia was killed by Cesare. In Rome. The same year Ezio Auditore was officially promoted to Mentor of the Italian Brotherhood--
There's that definite 'oh shit' moment on Shaun's brain makes a few connections, and he realizes, well damn, this guy he's been talking to for the past five minutes sounds familiar--]
You... You're... who are you?!
tch better Mentor than Papa Miles
Ezio follows the man up until he starts going into tangents again -- by Elizabeth did he mean...no, not the wife of Henry, she's only just died this year -- and blows out a breath. Maybe he would have been better off chancing the snow, if this man's so intent on chattering to himself, Ezio doesn't think he can stand an entire night of this regurgitation of outlandish historical "facts". But then. But then the man stops, and the Mentor has the sense as if he's being well and truly looked at for the first time since he got here.
He's not so sure he likes that look. ]
My name, signore, is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. [ he replies calmly, coolly, darkly for all that. Yes, he definitely doesn't like the man's expression now, finding his sudden enlightenment suspect. ] Have we met before?
ok true Bill's an ass
Oh my god.
[His voice drops, loses his energy and replaces it with... something like awe, and also dread, and also more revelation, and also "holy shit."
He pulls himself back situating the pen between his fingers so he could rub at his forehead and his temple, and try to process the idea that he had actually been talking to Ezio Auditore da Firenze the whole time.
He's a bit distracted with that-- but pulls his attention back after a moment. ]
Ah, no, no-- I'm, I'm a historian-- well, more of a historical analyst--, from the 21st century. 2013. I've uh-- I've studied your life, your-- career in a manner of speaking. It's part of my job.
[....Well if there was anyone you could trust it was the Mentor. Uh, besides the Al Mualim situation. But they'd documented Ezio pretty damn thoroughly before Desmond.... yeah.]
My job for the Assassins. As it were.
[Shrugs.]
3
[Desmond hasn't pulled his hood down yet, but there's both an odd sense of relief and downright amusement at hearing the familiar historian in the middle of this madness.[
Want a pencil? I hear they're what the Russians used when pens didn't cut it.
[Don't ask where he got a pencil from, he's half relying on other people's memories to survive this freezing mess.]
no subject
Oh please Desmond, I don't need your sorry attempt at--
[Wait.
Shaun looks all up and ready to gesticulate and go on and on about-- well, a demonstration of how much smarter he is, obviously, but the voice-- the person, one who should've been fried and in some body bag in Abstergo no doubt. He stops, turning around, surprise written on his features as he readjusts his glasses, as if he could be seeing things (please, he wasn't that crazy yet.)]
Well. Yes. Of course it's nice to see me, I may well be a bastion of civilization in this madness.
[Right. Best not to tell someone a story like that when it's about them. He gestures, giving up on the pen as he held it between his fingers.] C'mon now, you're not going to use it.