xistentiaooc | Test Drive Meme #5

Entry tags:

#meme,
#tdm

Test Drive Meme #5

You wouldn’t wake; i couldn’t sleep for years.

CRASH LANDING

Exit one dimension, enter the next. It was chaos: pressure against your ears, light bending in an impossible, unimaginable way. The very molecules of your body vibrating against one another. If you have windows, the view outside makes no sense. Even if not, your hands, your face, your feet seem like an uncertain thing. It's the feel of reality itself tearing apart, reshaping, reconnecting, thread by thread.

And suddenly, there's a beach— or ocean, whichever you land in. Smoke. Fire. Salt water churning up, fizzing around.

Maybe you crash, in a ship wrecking into sand. Maybe you merely stumble out of a portal, a ragged wormhole in space. Or maybe you fall off the back of an incredible steed, some creature that carried you into this place. Either way, there's pandemonium around you. Incredibly, severe injuries are far and few between— nobody's screaming about the dead. But you might have to help pull someone free of wreckage, or move quickly to salvage burning belongings from the landing craft. Maybe it's the crafts themselves, that you're trying to salvage.

Likely, you don't know them, these other strangers who arrived here^[1]. Maybe you don't trust them— you just came out of a dying world, after all. But you all have one thing in common: you're here now.

When you get a second to breathe, maybe you'll see it. The brilliant green forest across the sand. Beyond that, the glint of a faraway city.

THE RAIN

Here comes the rain. Trickling down the rafters and tinkling down the trees, it starts as a drizzle and steadily increases to a downpour. Maybe it catches you by surprise, chasing you indoors or to share the umbrella of a friendly stranger. There's something oddly elaborate about the gutters of Xistentia's city-- it clearly carries the water toward the temple in the East, a storm system that causes the lamps to pulsate without threatening to shut down.

You'll notice too that you're prone to nostalgia which even infiltrate your dreams, memories sad or happy. This is easily a private experience, but you might find yourself wandering the city to get away from old ghosts or feeling invincible in the glow of memories. More oddly, whether or not you're an artist, you might be inspired to draw on the windows with your finger in the condensation.

Personal symbols, detailed illustrations, these inextricably lead back to the nostalgia. Whatever it is, it might pull someone to ask.

NETWORK

By now, the city of Xistentia has a population of over 400 people. Shops line the streets of downtown, and increasingly well-trodden paths will take you into the agricultural zones nearer to the forest or even down to the beach. There are still distinctive animal presences around— careful with that— but the most common critters you'll see are birds crapping on your stuff outside and tiny winged hairless people creeping your food.

One afternoon, you are taken from whatever you’re doing - taking a walk through the city, sunning yourself on the beach, running around in the forest shoring up defenses - by a message, appearing on your Daemon’s network screen. It’s a simple line of text, that reads:

PHOTO SENT

It would appear that your daemon accidentally sent a picture, perhaps one from your photo roll or instagram, or a random shot of you or your surroundings. Wait. Was that a public network post? Wait—

IMAGE CODE TEMPLATE

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

hells yeah

Footnotes

Some of these can be nameless, plot-device NPCs to facilitate interactions! But even in this case, please avoid gore in describing their current state of being. Anyone dead or catastrophically injured will have disappeared by the time your characters make it to Xistentia. There are no corpses or dying here.
But like OOCly ask permission ofc.

Threaded | Flat

i. crash landing

[ waking up isn't the most dignified experience, but then again, juno's not really worried about looking very dignified as he jerks up from his place face down in the sand and the salt and the water, the heat of fire the first thing filling his lungs instead of cold air as he sputters alive like some old, rickety car left to die out in the middle of the martian desert but somehow miraculously finding it in itself to work. once he's up on his feet, he doesn't exactly go making himself scarce.

there's a fire, a wreckage, smoke and debris, you see, and among it, there are people who are struggling and shouting, as you do. and then there's juno who, unfortunately, isn't sure what save your own skin or even give yourself a second to breathe means anymore. so of course first thing he does is head straight for the heart of what he's call "A Bad Time", getting his hands dirty with blood and leveraging up pieces of scattered scrap that have people pinned too close to the fire.

but juno's only human and by the time things start to wind down, he's feeling the burn, literally, dragging himself up from the edge of the beach with blood on his hands, blood on his coat, blood on his trousers, and smoke and smudged ash about everywhere else.

if you even look remotely like you know what you're doing and weren't one of the people caught in or around the wreck by the beach, he reaches up with one hand that looks in pretty bad shape. ]

Hey, [ he half-rasps, smoke pretty comfortable where it is sitting in his lungs. yeah. great. he never asked for you to make yourself at home. ] Where's a lady gotta go to get a decent drink around here?

[ yeah that's a forest behind them, and the silhouette of a city decorated by the slowly dipping sun that he should start heading towards, but juno's got priorities. you don't survive a thing like this without booze, right? ]

ii. rain

[ umbrellas are for chumps, which is why juno doesn't have one. awesome.

besides, he's pretty sure he deserves to get rained on regardless. it's damp, a little humid, but hey. free shower. so not all that bed. except for the fact that he's wet and his daemon is pestering him aggressively with the fact that she's just as damp, feathers at her crown and throat wet and raised upwards in indignation with every drop. dahliad is clearly unamused by the whole weather phenomenon, walking as close to the shop overhangs as she can while juno lingers in the main street, grousing some paces away from her.

"detective," she says in a way that makes juno's fingers flex instinctively, in a way that makes his heart sink straight down to his shoes. "you'll catch cold that way." ]

Didn't they disprove that like thousands of years ago? Don't-- [ can peacocks look disappointed? they can if they're dahliad. ] Fine fine, just... don't get your feathers in a bunch. Hang on.

[ birds amiright? can't he just be allowed to brood in the rain in peace?????

juno makes it quick regardless, trying to find some overhang he can loiter under maybe until the rest of this storm is over, however long that might take. clearly he's doing this for her, not for himself, not because he's soaked to the bone or the warm lights of window shops have him edging closer towards them, some of them pretty average looking, but as he sits down in the first available bench under some cover, daliahd pressed up against his side and slowly squirming her wet, feathery way under his coat for warmth, he realizes he's next to a rather nicely-done up clothing boutique, and the closest thing to his head is a slinky red number, lined in gold from bust to ankle, the kind of thing you might wear on a night out on the town.

you bought me clothes?
don't say i never get you anything! see you soon!

now juno's never been much of an artist, but it's pure impulse that he reaches a hand up to the panel of glass beside him and starts idly drawing out what might look like a train.

dahliad pipes up: "what an extraordinary-looking... mm. hm. is that caterpillar on fire?"

juno gives her a very flat look. ]

No one asked for your input. When you sprout fingers then you can start criticizing my damn art.

[ "well, what is that supposed to be, darling?"

juno doesn't answer, mouth twisting a little as he gets comfortable squabbling with a white peacock hanging out underneath his coat. these are the people you want to hang out with. totally. a busted-up-looking, drenched detective and a peacock that looks about as smug as a peacock gets. please interrupt them. ]

iii. network

USERNAME DAHLIAD

or make your own adventure.

[ i ain't choosy. ]

Edited (bc i realized i needed a network option oops?) 2017-09-24 01:22 (UTC)

A. Crash Landing

[ The thing about not being totally sane is that when reality is actually coming apart you don't even know if it's real or not. After all, what's real often times feels so abstract and the stuff that's all in your head is utterly and viscerally tactile, you can't escape it no matter what.

So, it's no surprise that Elliot Alderson is questioning his sanity as he lands on a beach. The last thing he remembers is Tyrell and the sound of a gun and then pain. At least he thinks that's the last thing he remembers but he's not in pain and as he looks down at his body he doesn't see any particularly grievous injuries either.

In the midst of relative chaos, Elliot is standing there looking quite lost. The voice in his head doesn't seem to be there -- any of them.

This can't be real, right? ]

B. Network

un: flipperd

C. Wildcard

[ Whatever else fits your fancy. Hit me with your best shot! ]

i. crash landing;
[ This isn't right. This isn't anywhere that he recognizes, and it's the second time the world's gone weird in such a short burst that all he can think of is that he's going absolutely insane.

But the monster, that had been real, and the smell of it burning, that had been real, and the blood on the bat full of nails had been real, same with the solid thunk, the type of strike that Steve owed to his Little League days where he'd try to hit not a home run, but other players on the field. That had been real, too.

No, this isn't right. But the sand feels real, and the wreckage looks real.

The problem is that Steve, stumbling from the ground, nearly tripping over once white shoes, has no longer questioned it. Instead, he laughs. He laughs, and digs his heels into the sand, and almost runs a hand through his hair before he remembers that it's still gelled, and god dammit, something has to be normal here and it may as well be his hair. ]

Woah, woah woah woah-- [ let it be known that Steve isn't completely an asshole, just mostly one: he's spotted someone under something, a weird sheet of metal, and he himself only has a few scuffs that had been from Hawkins and not the landing. ]

Don't move. Hang on.

[ He lifts as best as he can, succeeding in giving the other just enough room to escape from underneath. ]

Y'okay?

ii. network;
un: sharrington

iii. wildcard;
[ Go crazy! ]

i. i can’t stand the rain

[ When the rain begins, it doesn’t bother Darlene too much -- it’s hardly anything more than a light mist of precipitation in the air that barely has her feeling damp -- she simply pulls up the hood of her jacket, olive green and fashionably oversized on Darlene’s thin frame, and keeps making her way down the sidewalk.

Her stroll is lazy, but there’s intent in the way she studies the storefronts that she passes by. As though looking for something in particular, but in the most seemingly disinterested way possible.

But, soon enough the barely there misting has turned into an all out downpour, and the hood of her jacket isn’t doing very much in the way of keeping her dry anymore. To be honest, nothing that she has on is holding up well against the sudden rainstorm; her tights are soaked around the calves, the soles of her heavy combat-style boots are begin to squish with each step she takes, even her jacket is starting to feel weighed down as it soaks up the rainwater. Rather than try to weather it out any longer, Darlene ducks into the first open shop that she comes across. ]

Ugh. [ The word comes out as a groan. ] You have got to be kidding me.

[ She hardly gives the rest of the store, or the people inside, a second glance before pulling her bookbag off and unzipping it to check the contents inside.

Hopefully they weren’t ruined. ]

ii. but first, let me take a selfie

un : ciscod

iii. you can do what you want, baby

[ wildcard option. open to anything in any setting. feel free to ping

unnideul to discuss. ]

crash landing;

[ Atop the sounds of those struggling in the sand, the crackle of fire and crinkle of metal contorting in ways that it shouldn't, there comes a deafening engine rev as a motorcycle launches out of nearby time and space fluctuation. The tires screech against a suddenly much softer surface that the rider is too disoriented to adjust to. It's not a steed proper but Tatsuki is still bucked off its back harshly all the same; he flies through the air, a gangly mess of long limbs and confusion.

He rolls once he collides with the ground, some good few turns away from his now crashed Honda CBR. He gives a groan but doesn't move just yet. Give him time to come to his senses. This poor boy's just been through one helluva ride.

He's aware enough, however, that should anyone try to touch him their hand will be immediately slapped away. Even if they're only trying to help, they'll be met with a surprisingly icy glare for such otherwise foggy eyes. ]

rain;

[ Standing out in the rain with only a windbreaker on for protection is Tatsuki. He's still adjusting to this new dimension, to the knowledge of the fate of his world. His daemon has taken the form of a glove, just one, that he often wore to minimize contact with others. The matching one is in his pocket as he's pre-occupied with doodling an image on a foggy window.

He's understandably shaken. Upset. One wouldn't know it, looking at his perfectly stony face. But this isn't something that anyone adjusts to as easily as they might seem. It doesn't help that nostalgia isn't a feeling he enjoys. The swell of emotions at remembering things past - how things used to be, how he used to be - had never sat well. Even now, it's difficult to bite back and rein in just how bothersome the changes in himself are, especially when it came to his family.

He hopes that Kotarou is alright. Maybe it's the recollection of his cousin that causes his fingers to idly trace a string of flowers along the window's surface. It's a thoughtless motion that allows him something else to focus on besides what once was. ]

network;

(( ooc; in lieu of a proper permissions post, it should be noted that tatsuki has a psychic ability triggered by touch! if he touches your character (skin to skin contact), he might be able to see a memory. the catch is it's usually a bad memory i.e. one with negative associations. icly, he will avoid this at all costs. oocly, i'm perfectly fine with this happening but hmu via pm or

puddingandpie so we can hash out what tatsuki will see! ))

Edited 2017-09-24 13:01 (UTC)

❄ crash and burn

[Jack's unsure of what irritates his eyes more: the salt water or the smoke from the fire once he manages to drag himself up onto the sand. He raises a hand, coughs up another mouthful of sea water then spares a glance around at his surroundings.

Everything is chaos, what with people rushing here and there, attempting to scavenge items from the wreck. Honestly, he's pretty sure none of it is worth risking their lives over, but in his own way of helping, he douses the smaller flames with some of his ice powers, ignoring the throb at the side of his head.

It doesn't occur to him that he might be injured.

The slow forming of a bruise from temple to chin will continue to go unnoticed, unless a passerby happens to mention it.]

❄ rain, rain, go away

[At this point, steady rainfall is something he pays no mind to. That is, until his daemon decides to flutter up next to him, shaking her wings off, dousing him with tiny, bitter-cold drops.]

Thanks a lot, [he mutters sarcastically, adjusting the hold on his staff then reaching to gently rub the sleeve of his hoodie across black-speckled feathers.] Better? [A soft 'hoo' seems to be all she can give him, her head ducking low and hovering near his cheek.]

Don't worry, Avalanche. We'll be out of this mess in no time. ["That's what you think, Jack. For all you know, we could be here forever."] Oh, come on, why do you have to crush my dreams? [If an owl could roll its eyes. "How dramatic of you."] 'Dramatic' just so happens to be my middle name. ["I thought it 'Overland?'"] You promised you'd never bring that up ... ["Oops?" Which Jack responds to by rolling his eyes.

Thankfully, when the dreams descend upon him, dredging up memories of his sister, that day on the ice, which teems into somewhat happier moments. The drag of his finger through the moisture on windows isn't the same as using his abilities to create illustrations that move, but it distracts from things he doesn't want to remember right now.]

❄ network

username foundhiscenter

[ooc: or come at me with something of your own! i'm voice-testing this troublemaker, just so everyone's aware. c:]

❧ bang, bang, they shot me down

[Avoiding fire during a crash like this is next to near impossible, especially when he'd been planning for his teleport to simply take him across a room-- not to an entirely different place where things were burning. He buries his face into the crook of his elbow for protection, iridescent eyes darting this way and that, scanning any and everything in his line of sight.

No shouts of people being dead and the lack of charred bodies are both relieving things, indeed.

Once Kurt has gathered himself into a more presentable state, he sets off to aid others however he can. He himself is unharmed (from what he can tell), so his offering isn't hindered by injuries of any sort.]

Are you all right? [Seems to be his mantra during all of this. Unfortunately, he's not much help when it comes to putting out fire, unless splashing sea water onto it counts? Too bad there aren't any spare buckets lying about.]

❧ let the rain fall down

[What luck for Kurt! He just so happens to be one of the people carrying an umbrella, which seems to have no problem keeping him and the silver-furred ocelot dry. She's draped languidly across his shoulders, purring with content beneath the stroke of his hands, the end of her tail flicking to and fro. Nose to tail-tip, she stretches three feet long; it's a wonder he can keep all of her from sliding off, though he seems to have lots of practice.

Should he be approached, the feline looks up first, wild eyes staring down their new associate.] Sheba's all growl, no bite. I'm still working on a joke about her not having any teeth. [Another full-handed caress over the sleek fur, his head shaking when she rumbles in a halfhearted protest.] Oh, did you need to stand under here, too?

[He raises the spade of his own extra appendage to accommodate the new person, lips quirking, despite the torrent of raindrops that continue to patter across the stretched canvas.] I don't mind sharing if you don't. [That doesn't include stories of memories the downfall brings up, though.]

❧ network

username theincredible

[ooc: hit me with that wildcard if none of these tickle your fancy!]

Rain

[ Ned is on his way to get something to eat because it's about lunch time and he's still not mastered the art of cooking in the place he ended up sharing with Peter once he got settled into the city. When he left it was clear and pretty nice out and then the rain starts. At first it's light and well he can deal with that he's almost to his destination after all!

But then... it starts pouring. When it does he looks up to the sky with a dramatic: ] Are you serious?!

[ As much as he might want to run to the closest cover he speed walks instead to the awning of the nearest building, though he's not sure what it is but it does at least provide some cover from the rain. Maybe some good samaritan will come by with an umbrella to escort him the rest of the way? ]

Network

username: deathstard

Wildcard

[ Open to crash scenes or anything else that sounds fun for you! ]

I. Crash Landing
[His entrance into this strange new world is comparatively subdued - from his own perspective, the ground on the other side of the door Father Nighroad was chivvying him through gave way, and he was falling for what seemed like a very long time indeed.

If anyone happens to be watching, he appears in the sky as if he tripped through an invisible doorway up there - and drops unceremoniously into the ocean before he's even registered the change in his surroundings, because he isn't the kind of Methuselah who can fly.

He surfaces with a great deal of coughing and spluttering, and manages to drag himself to shore despite that. There's a long few minutes where he just stays on his hands and knees in the sand, coughing up seawater. Once he's expelled most of it from his lungs, he finally turns his attention to his surroundings.

He's on a beach, not in a city, and it's night where from his perspective it was day only moments ago (which is a lucky thing, actually, since his impromptu swim has washed off his UV protection gel). And there's no sign now of Father Nightroad, who was right behind him.]

Priest...? [The first attempt comes out as a croak, sp he tries again.] Priest! [But it turns out his throat is still so raw that trying to shout just sends him into another coughing fit.]

II. Rain
[Venturing out into it by day would mean not only careful application of the gel, which he can't afford to waste, but finding some way to keep the rain off entirely so that it wouldn't wash off. So, Ion saves his explorations for nighttime - it isn't a hindrance, this city he's found himself in never really seems to sleep.

So here he is, seated at a booth in Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe, waiting for his meal and doing some thinking. By now, the little white squirrel perched on his shoulder has explained what this place is and why he's here. What he's meant to do. It's... more than a little overwhelming, knowing the fate of his entire world rests on his shoulders alone.

He can't help but think that Father Nightroad would be far better suited to this mission than he is. And as his thoughts turn to the priest, he finds himself absently doodling in the condensation on the window - the end result is a cartoonish little caricature of Abel Nightroad.]

III. Network
text; daemon: abeld

Edited 2017-09-28 03:40 (UTC)

𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙝 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 ➝

[ mika's already experienced the end of the world once. to experience it again is not much fun, especially when he's pulled from being with his precious yuu-chan to a crash site of an airplane. he hasn't come to any harm, fortunately, but he's been in better places and better situations. at least he's not thirsty... yet.

blood-red eyes glance around him as he takes in the scene. he's aware of the little black bat that seems to be flopping around him now and scowls at it, reminded of krul tepes' pet bat, arukanu, but as the bat introduces himself with a voice not unlike that of ferid bathory's, he finds himself saddled with a means for communication. not that he approves. looking around again, he realizes he's nowhere familiar, and it's obviously not japan. where he might be, he has no idea. but he does know he needs to get away from the scent of wounded humans before he feels that familiar burning in his chest and throat. so he sets his gaze on the forest, one hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip and begins making his way there. against the smokey, ruined backdrop of the wreckage and the sea, his white uniform is almost glaring, but he doesn't care. he doesn't shuck off any of it, regardless of how wet and sandy it is because the anti-uv black bands on his shoulder keep him from burning. besides, he's more focused on finding his way back to yuu. ]

𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 ➝

daemon: tepesd

[ some twenty minutes later there's an addendum: ]

I'm looking for a Japanese boy with black hair and green eyes.
He'll be in a black uniform with green accents
he'll also be carrying a sword.
He's a bit of an idiot though
so please inform me as soon as possible.

Edited 2017-09-28 21:29 (UTC)

✳ hot as a fever

[Fortunately, Jubilee is one of the lucky ones that ends up closer to the shore. As she steps up onto the sand, her sneaker immediately sinks, followed soon after by the other, making her heave a sigh. Okay, maybe it sounds a little overdramatic, but none of this is at all what she'd had planned for the day. It's not the mall with her friends, hanging at the movies or slugging down slush puppies and eating chili fries until they're to the point of bursting.

And she's not happy about it.]

Ugh, [she expels with disgust, peeling off her soaked yellow jacket, holding it aloft with one hand while she tugs at her equally wet shirt. Then, once she takes a moment to look around, it dawns on her,] Okay, definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

[Or New York, for that matter. After wringing as much water out as possible, the pyrotech drapes the coat over her arm, shakes some of the sand off her shoes and treads forward, hoping that no one's been caught on fire.

Hey, at least she didn't have anything to do with these flames. For once.]

✳ let it wash away my sanity

[Beneath the cover of her coat, she spares a glance up at the steady downfall of rain, wrinkling her nose and blinking rapidly when some of the water catches on her eyelashes. One hand raises to wipe away the drops, fingertips flicking them away, then she turns her attention to the stag at her side.]

How much longer do you think we'll be walking?

["I don't know, but if I have to hear you complain about your hair getting messed up again ..."] Look, it's super important. ["No, it isn't."] Maybe not now, but what happens if I meet someone? I'll be looking a hot mess and that's not a good first impression.

[The buck gives her a look, which she simply smiles at. He shakes his head and she leans, nudging him affectionately with her shoulder.] I'm only kidding, [teases the mutant, amusement clear in her voice.] Besides, I know that even with my disheveled self, I'd still be able to reel 'em in.

[He noses across the top of her head, slicking down the damp ebony strands there. "At least your confidence hasn't taken a harsh blow."] And what's that supposed to mean? ["Humbleness wouldn't suit you."]

Heeey! [A chuff as he withdraws. She pouts, gives him a light push then slumps against his side, continuing on toward their destination.]

✳ network

username tooeffervescent

[ooc: or wildcard is also an option!]

ɪ. ʀᴀɪɴ;
[ Even a Seelie knight must venture into the city. Meliorn doesn't hate the crowds and the smell, no, but he certainly dislikes it. It's not just the city--it is this place. He feels different here, nature feels different here, the world feels different here. Not wrong, but unpleasant, like milk just about to go bad.

Or maybe he's projecting, he thinks, glancing down at the carton he'd picked up from the store behind him. Maybe he's just wary of actually drinking the small carton, for fear it tastes completely different than what he's used to. His nose wrinkles slightly, the fact that he's in the middle of the sidewalk seems not to bother him in the slightest.

Nor does the rain, when the sky opens up with a crack. Meliorn's gaze slides from the milk carton in his hand and to the ground, before he slowly moves his head upwards and closes his eyes. Water cleanses. He breathes out, before his brow furrows. ]

The rain is moving to the east.

ɪɪ. ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ;
[ So his world has died. It takes a lot to fathom, and at the same time, quite little: worlds end. Things end. He is alive, and that is the best he can hope for. The situation is dire, but there is the faint hope that his Queen still lives. There is optimism in every breath: surely, there are others from his world here. It would be foolish to think otherwise.

Meliorn remains steadfastly hopeful, but he is no fool. Things must be addressed. The dying of his world, for example. There is no welcoming the future without mourning the past. And that is precisely what he is doing: he has found a small place in the woods, far from needless technology, far from noise, and has created a tent of sorts. Soft fabric is draped delicately, every placement precise. There are butterfly motifs everywhere.

A metaphor: change.

Meliorn, in the middle, sits with his feet drawn up and his eyes closed, still, quiet, listening. For what, it's unknown. This place is still noisy, still crowded, and stuffy, and unpleasant, and--

--and very slowly, Meliorn opens his eyes. ]

To the one that is outside: I can hear you.

[ A curious hiker, no doubt. Meliorn keeps his voice level. ]

III. ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ;
un: knightd

Edited 2017-10-02 08:12 (UTC)

crash landing (closed to link);

[ Despite being spared Calamity Ganon's wrath, it seemed Hyrule was not immune to natural catastrophes. It started as a sprinkling of comets across the sky that grew progressively more redhot and dangerous as they careened towards the planet. He had been home, in Zora's Domain, alongside Link who had so graciously offered to help them restore the Zora monuments when the first ones collided.

The aftershock and tremors of one's impact caused (the usually magnificently coordinated) Link to lose his footing, to stumble back off one of the many cliffsides leading up to Zora's Domain. He felt his heart drop in his chest at the sight. His feet carried him before his mind actually did into leaping immediately after Link without a second's hesitation. The last thing he remembers is reaching out to the other man, trying to wrap his arms around one of the people nearest and dearest to him before they hit the water, and then-

A splash, a disorienting shift. He bobbed up above the surface and didn't recognize the area. But that didn't matter, what mattered was- ] Link! [ he called out, upon realizing that he didn't have the Hylian in hand. Sidon set to searching immediately to find the blond-haired man in the waves, among the wreckage of some kind of mechanism. ]

rain;

[ Well, this weather pattern certainly seems familiar. Sidon doesn't mind the rain in the slightest. But in excess like this, it does definitely call home to mind. At least, home before Link had saved them all from the Divine Beat. Had he reminded him how thankful he was for that today? If not, he'd have to be sure to do it later...

For now, he's tracing said Divine Beast on the panel of a fogged up window. Maybe it's the cute little elephant doodle that pulls someone in. Maybe it's the fact the artist is a fucking red ten-foot tall fish-man drawing it on the bottom of the second-story window. Who knows! Either way, he'll grin brightly despite the gloom at whoever happens to come near. ] Hello there!

Would you like to try your hand at drawing something? Please, go ahead! This window is free. [ Tap taps on the first floor window just below and to the side of him. ]

network;

daemon: mipha'd

i. crash landing

[It wasn't the first time he'd fallen from heights, and definitely wouldn't be the last. Slogging his way to the shore was unpleasant, salt water stinging in cuts and scrapes as he tried to wring what water he could out of his hair. But there wasn't much time for that when he registered the state of affairs on the beach itself, throwing himself immediately into helping; moving debris, looking for anyone trapped or injured to help get out.

And if some of the things he was shifting were too heavy for a normal teen to be able to lift, he certainly didn't seem to be having any trouble.]

Hey... you alright? Need any help?

ii. the rain

[Nostalgia wasn't something Tommy was a big fan of. Which meant that when it hit, he was doing his best to ignore the thoughts and feelings, taking to wandering the city in an attempt to distract himself, umbrella in hand, daemon at his heels. Euclid was already the size of a large dog, but something about the size of his his feet, and the long lanky limbs suggested he still had some growing to do yet.

Tommy himself might not look so approachable but Euclid seemed more interested in those around them, the frills decorating his head lifting slightly if he spied anything or anyone that caught his attention, head tilting not unlike a bird's might.]

iii. network

1] crash landing;

[ The rain is coming down in sheets that night, though the clouds did nothing to hide the flashes of light that marked the descent of the meteor storm. It's with increased urgency that a young, white-haired lady stumbles and dashes through muddied country roads and unkept cobblestone streets; she speeds along with tentacles and feet both, hoping to escape the storm before it can hurt her, hurt her friends. There's the crashing of thunder and stone in the distance; the howling of wind; and, amidst them both, an older woman's voice: ]

[ "We'll catch up, Tonn! Meet us at the seaside!" ]

[ The young woman can barely spare a glance back to the source, a brunette who was now tending to the young child beside her, and in her haste she tumbles, rolls — ]

[ — a gust of wind strikes her once, twice, sends her careening past a hill top and toward the roaring of the ocean below — ]

[ — and then, she wakes. ]

[ She comes to with a start, the sloshing of the sea ringing in her ears as she rights herself, and with her tentacles and her limbs she starts making her way to shore. Tonn's sure to hide the extra appendages as she comes close to the sand, not wanting to startle anyone, and once her feet touchdown she's immediately wandering, trying to make sense of what just happened. ]

2] little pictures in the rain;

[ Rain doesn't bother Tonn; as folks scramble past her, trying to get indoors, she's taking as leisurely of a pace as she could, with neither raincoat nor umbrella on her person. ]

[ It's the little things, really. ]

[ The cuttlefish on her shoulder doesn't seem to mind overmuch, either, its little tentacles reaching this way and that as drops fall around it. ]

Look at you! If I didn't know better, I'd say you could be a real fish.

I'm about as real as can be, excuse you, [ comes her daemon's lilting, slightly-digitised voice, one tiny red tentacle tapping Tonn's ear. It's enough to make the young woman laugh, warm and bubbly, as she dips into a building at last. ]

[ The foggy windows that line the entrance hall seem awful empty, and it's after a moment of consideration that the soaked young lass settles in front of one. She spares a quick, furtive glance before she lets slip one of her tentacles, using it as a third hand to help her trace and trail wavy lines and spiraling curves along the glass. ]

network;

daemon: titimd;

Threaded | Flat

juno steel / the penumbra podcast

Elliot Alderson | MR ROBOT

A. Crash Landing

B. Network

C. Wildcard

steve harrington | stranger things

Darlene Alderson | MR. ROBOT

tatsuki oohira | hands off!

jack frost ❄ rise of the guardians

kurt wagner ❧ xmu