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?
No, that is not true. I knew you needed help in the nebulous and all-encompassing way that everyone needs help. In the way that we are all silently drowning in a sea of life with no shore in sight, praying for someone to help us.
But I didn't know that you needed help with something specific. Or that I was the one that was supposed to be helping you. I don't often help people, that is a job for the scientists with their perfect hair and brilliant brains, or for designated Help Marshals from the City Council with their black ski masks and mysterious bag of needles.
[He sounds surprised. What strange questions you ask, new and nameless friend.]
We can try and do whatever we wish. We can try and avoid those conversation topics assiduously, we can hide, trembling, from them under desks and in the dark spaces every home has, but they may find us all the same.
What would you like to try and talk about instead? What would you like to be the last conversation I hear before I succumb to the cold already washing through my body?
[Steve now has his head cupped in one hand, covering his eyes. He does feel slightly like an asshole, but seriously... that's not too much to ask, is it? Even from a dying man? A crazy, dying man?
If Steve is 100% honest with himself, he doesn't really want to talk to this guy. But he would feel a hell of a lot more like an asshole if he hung up on someone dying alone in the cold. Steve sighs.]
I'm sorry. I'm just—this place kind of gets to me is all. You should talk about whatever you want to talk about. Least I can do is listen.
[The word is a sibilant hiss. Mingled sympathy and disappointment oozing through the speakers like a crude oil cocktail.]
We cannot choose our own names, Steve, and so I will try not to judge you for the misguided choices of your parents. If you had parents. Perhaps you do not identify as a child of anything or anyone, perhaps you were named by entities as terrifying as they are unfathomable.
[Either way, your name sucks, Steve.]
My name is Cecil, and I am grateful for your willingness to listen to me in my final moments. But I would be more grateful if you would listen to me when I return, if I am so lucky as to return, for what is a radio host without listeners to heed his words?
Ahaha I had a feeling Cecil wouldn't like that XDDDDD
[He perks up again. He will gloss past Steve's embarrassing like of his own unfortunate name and focus on the better part of the conversation.]
I became an intern when I was very young. I do not remember much about it, I do not remember how I survived the usual bloody and inevitable fate of a community radio station intern, but I did. I survived, and now I am the host of Night Vale Community Radio. I am not a physical host now, but I am sure that will not stop some subconscious part of myself from existing in a time and place where I can fulfil my contract to the station management.
[Nobody broke a contract with station management, not even by being temporarily relocated to another world.]
It is quite an exciting job, let me tell you. Or, I would tell you, but the cold is making my thoughts and tongue sluggish, which most likely means my possibly painful demise is close at hand.
[Part of Steve wants to be annoyed that Cecil's just charging on past the name issue as if he didn't hear him, but Steve doesn't really need to be arguing about the merits of the name 'Steve' with a crazy fella who is slowly freezing to death, so he lets it slide.
Steve frowns as Cecil talks about his past with Night Vale Community Radio, and starts to entertain the horrifying possibility that maybe Cecil... well, he's probably still insane, but maybe some of what he's talking about is real where he comes from.
Steve is... Steve is not sure he's ready to contemplate that.
He swallows hard when Cecil talks about the symptoms of hypothermia that he's experiencing. Cecil may be cool (haha) with it all, but it's rough on Steve to think of a fella dying alone in the cold.]
If it helps... it probably won't be too painful. You'll kinda go numb first, and then you'll just sort of... fall asleep. [FANTASTIC memories this is bringing back for him, YAY.]
And if it's hard to talk... I could do more of the talking? I could talk about me? [...Oh!] We could pretend it's an interview.
I have not done many live interviews, but a good radio host is always prepared for whoever might drop unseen into the studio on scuttling and razor-sharp legs.
[Which is a yes, let's talk about you.]
I would like to hear about you, Steve. I would like to hear about the home you have left behind, if you had a home. Or perhaps you already consider this your home, it is just as horrifying and much less dangerous than other towns and other places. If you consider it a home, maybe it will become less of a prison.
[This is Cecil when he is having trouble talking. Honestly.]
[Steve's getting better at ignoring the crazy stuff. He completely ignores the 'scuttling and razor-sharp legs' bit and the way Cecil says his name like it tastes bad.
He winces a little at the last bit, though.]
I'm from... well, I've moved around a bit recently, but the United States. Brooklyn, New York, originally. Not sure I'm ready to consider Norfinbury home. I'm going to keep trying to get out of here if I can.
Well, you know the old the saying: Home is where the pulsating mass of meat and muscles that constitutes your body is.
[He chuckles lightly, it sounds a little slurred.]
I visited Brooklyn once, or maybe it was a dream that felt like a reality. There were many tall buildings with windows that looked like gaping maws and streets filled with strangers lost in an ecstasy of fear and isolation. I am sure you must miss it.
Sounds like Brooklyn, all right. ...I do miss it. I don't really live there anymore, I'm kinda... out in the country, these days. I go where work takes me. Brooklyn's changed a lot, though, since I was a kid... some things are the same, but I barely recognize it. I think... it's still home, but I do sometimes miss the way things used to be. Some of the things, anyway.
It is only natural to miss the past, we all miss the past. With its comforting rose-tinted memories of things that may or may not have happened, often containing people that we have cared about and who are now lost to us. Lost to themselves. Lost to the world.
[He sighs wistfully. He sighs again for the cold.]
But we must focus on the now, however much we miss the past with its Brooklyn and Night Vale. It is not a pleasant now, it is a terrifying now filled with uncertainty and endless nights of blood-curdling shrieks to uncaring and unhearing administrators.
Except for the municipal buildings, the snow, the lack of any radio station, and the absence of the laws that govern our every day lives of course! But aside from those minor things it's practically identical.
[For once, brevity is actually the name of the game. A game without knowable rules, without a board, without even a set number of players. But at least a game with a name.]
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snowblindmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindmemes2015-10-15 02:54 am
no subject
[through gritted teeth] Not exactly helping, pal.
[Fella probably went stir-crazy. Steve's seen that happen to people in Norfinbury before.]
no subject
[A beat of silence.]
No, that is not true. I knew you needed help in the nebulous and all-encompassing way that everyone needs help. In the way that we are all silently drowning in a sea of life with no shore in sight, praying for someone to help us.
But I didn't know that you needed help with something specific. Or that I was the one that was supposed to be helping you. I don't often help people, that is a job for the scientists with their perfect hair and brilliant brains, or for designated Help Marshals from the City Council with their black ski masks and mysterious bag of needles.
no subject
Look, it's OK, just—can we try to avoid nightmares, pain, screaming, and actual physical descriptions of death as topics of conversation?
Steve is too cute to deal with Night Vale. Run while you still can, Steve!
[He sounds surprised. What strange questions you ask, new and nameless friend.]
We can try and do whatever we wish. We can try and avoid those conversation topics assiduously, we can hide, trembling, from them under desks and in the dark spaces every home has, but they may find us all the same.
What would you like to try and talk about instead? What would you like to be the last conversation I hear before I succumb to the cold already washing through my body?
no subject
If Steve is 100% honest with himself, he doesn't really want to talk to this guy. But he would feel a hell of a lot more like an asshole if he hung up on someone dying alone in the cold. Steve sighs.]
I'm sorry. I'm just—this place kind of gets to me is all. You should talk about whatever you want to talk about. Least I can do is listen.
...Hey. What's your name, pal? I'm Steve.
no subject
[The word is a sibilant hiss. Mingled sympathy and disappointment oozing through the speakers like a crude oil cocktail.]
We cannot choose our own names, Steve, and so I will try not to judge you for the misguided choices of your parents. If you had parents. Perhaps you do not identify as a child of anything or anyone, perhaps you were named by entities as terrifying as they are unfathomable.
[Either way, your name sucks, Steve.]
My name is Cecil, and I am grateful for your willingness to listen to me in my final moments. But I would be more grateful if you would listen to me when I return, if I am so lucky as to return, for what is a radio host without listeners to heed his words?
Ahaha I had a feeling Cecil wouldn't like that XDDDDD
What's wrong with Steve? I like my name.
...Hey, if you make it back, sure, yeah, I'll listen. ...Is that what you do back home? You're a radio host?
At least his surname isn't Carlsberg?
[He perks up again. He will gloss past Steve's embarrassing like of his own unfortunate name and focus on the better part of the conversation.]
I became an intern when I was very young. I do not remember much about it, I do not remember how I survived the usual bloody and inevitable fate of a community radio station intern, but I did. I survived, and now I am the host of Night Vale Community Radio. I am not a physical host now, but I am sure that will not stop some subconscious part of myself from existing in a time and place where I can fulfil my contract to the station management.
[Nobody broke a contract with station management, not even by being temporarily relocated to another world.]
It is quite an exciting job, let me tell you. Or, I would tell you, but the cold is making my thoughts and tongue sluggish, which most likely means my possibly painful demise is close at hand.
[He still sounds chill with this.]
no subject
Steve frowns as Cecil talks about his past with Night Vale Community Radio, and starts to entertain the horrifying possibility that maybe Cecil... well, he's probably still insane, but maybe some of what he's talking about is real where he comes from.
Steve is... Steve is not sure he's ready to contemplate that.
He swallows hard when Cecil talks about the symptoms of hypothermia that he's experiencing. Cecil may be cool (haha) with it all, but it's rough on Steve to think of a fella dying alone in the cold.]
If it helps... it probably won't be too painful. You'll kinda go numb first, and then you'll just sort of... fall asleep. [FANTASTIC memories this is bringing back for him, YAY.]
And if it's hard to talk... I could do more of the talking? I could talk about me? [...Oh!] We could pretend it's an interview.
no subject
[Which is a yes, let's talk about you.]
I would like to hear about you, Steve. I would like to hear about the home you have left behind, if you had a home. Or perhaps you already consider this your home, it is just as horrifying and much less dangerous than other towns and other places. If you consider it a home, maybe it will become less of a prison.
[This is Cecil when he is having trouble talking. Honestly.]
no subject
He winces a little at the last bit, though.]
I'm from... well, I've moved around a bit recently, but the United States. Brooklyn, New York, originally. Not sure I'm ready to consider Norfinbury home. I'm going to keep trying to get out of here if I can.
no subject
[He chuckles lightly, it sounds a little slurred.]
I visited Brooklyn once, or maybe it was a dream that felt like a reality. There were many tall buildings with windows that looked like gaping maws and streets filled with strangers lost in an ecstasy of fear and isolation. I am sure you must miss it.
no subject
Yep. That's exactly what they say.
Sounds like Brooklyn, all right. ...I do miss it. I don't really live there anymore, I'm kinda... out in the country, these days. I go where work takes me. Brooklyn's changed a lot, though, since I was a kid... some things are the same, but I barely recognize it. I think... it's still home, but I do sometimes miss the way things used to be. Some of the things, anyway.
no subject
[He sighs wistfully. He sighs again for the cold.]
But we must focus on the now, however much we miss the past with its Brooklyn and Night Vale. It is not a pleasant now, it is a terrifying now filled with uncertainty and endless nights of blood-curdling shrieks to uncaring and unhearing administrators.
Sooo... a very normal kind of now, really.
no subject
no subject
Except for the municipal buildings, the snow, the lack of any radio station, and the absence of the laws that govern our every day lives of course! But aside from those minor things it's practically identical.
no subject
[Trying to avoid telling Cecil that his home sounds 'horrible' Steve instead makes an awkward, not-a-word-in-any-way noise. Smooth, Steve.]
no subject
[For once, brevity is actually the name of the game. A game without knowable rules, without a board, without even a set number of players. But at least a game with a name.]
no subject
I get that. I hope that, despite your... current situation... you can make it back there soon.