TEST DRIVE ∞ Jan. 2026

[thediadem]

Test Drive ∞ Jan 2026

Karyostenosis

©

Jump ⇅ :: Arrival — Panorama — Fringes — Invite Request

The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.

Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.

But first, you need to find a ride.

No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the thread below to request an invite from another player.

Current characters can make top-levels to the TDM, but you must include prompts that are open to all. Please label CURRENT or NEW in the subject.

∞ Summary ∞

IC-wise, arrivals are scattered from mid-month into the next month. Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical care instead...so take the car. It'll come in handy.

TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. New arrivals will not be affected by the recent event.

Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:

• Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced, so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
• Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
• Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
• Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
• Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before texting or calling anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.

TDM Questions? Here — Game Questions? FAQ

Setting — Taken — Reserves — Applications ::: ⇅ Top

Scrapyard

Arrival & Introduction

Date: Late January into February

You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.

Then you open your eyes.

Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.

You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you. It's not the prettiest, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.

Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.

You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: A massive pothole sends your hubcap flying; debris off a delivery truck zooming by strikes your windshield or roof; your windshield wipers are broken and the rain is coming down heavy, obscuring your vision.

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Panorama

Explore & Settle In

Conditions: Heavy rains, wind, chilly temperatures (but above freezing).

After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. You'll only have access to the Pavilion and the Blocks for now. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in. The commute between the Pavilion and the Blocks can be as long as 1 hour or so, depending on where you start and end, but there are shops and stores in walking distance of the Blocks, too. The division between the two areas isn't particularly strict.

You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.

The Pavilion: On the Job

©

Temperatures are finally warming up as the season inches toward spring. Most of the slush and snow's been washed away by the rain. There's a lot of rain. It doesn't make traffic as bad as the snowstorm did, but poorly maintained roads and sewer systems means roads are constantly flooded. Walking on the sidewalk? Be careful: cars aren't slowing down as they zoom past the massive puddles, sending a wave of filthy water crashing over you.

Umbrella sellers are out by the dozens, standing on every street corner to offer you cheap, rickety umbrellas looted or slap-dashed together from old supplies. You could also get one of those cheap plastic ponchos, rubber rainboots, and more. Pretty much anything you can think of, you can probably find it. The real issue is the quality...but it'll help get you from A to B without getting soaked.

As for where you might be going or why, the end of winter is a good time to find a job. Now that The Rail is back in business, too, people are hopeful about more resources and money coming into Panorama, and that means places are more willing to hire. Serving, store clerks, delivery drivers, and boring administrative work are all required.

• "Taxis": Though Panorama doesn't have a formal delivery or taxi service, that doesn't mean people won't offer. All around you are numbers spray painted onto walls or stapled to bulletin boards advertising a cheap ride if your car's out of commission or you're simply a passenger princess. You, too, can put your number up or dial a number if you want. Just know that like everything on this planet, relying on strangers is a gamble: they might try to rob you, they might be fleeing from loan sharks, or they might drive like a maniac. Or, you might end up with a pleasant conversation and a perfectly helpful driver. Who knows?
• Inventory: Shops, restaurants, and medical facilities in the city are taking inventory to prepare for new shipments that may arrive from Acreage and Kolliery now that the Rail is working again. They'll pay seasonal help to do this. You could be counting all kinds of things: medical supplies, nuts and bolts in a tire-change shop, canned food in a diner, or boxes of ammunition in a weapons shop. Whatever's sold, it needs to be counted. Inventory in the Diadem is rarely uniform, so the work can get complicated and messy. The good news is, if you're sneaky, you can skim a few items before marking it down. Just don't get caught! You'll be assigned a partner to keep an eye on each other, but that doesn't mean you can't collaborate on a scheme.

The Blocks: Small Troubles

©

Even when there are no major incident in the motels, like a leaky pipe or mold, the daily hassle of living in a place that has no building codes and few resources for maintenance continues. If you luck out, you'll find a pretty decent space with only a couple of mice and working hot water. If you meet nothing except misfortune, you could run into everything from rotting floorboards under the carpet, a nest of spiders bursting from a corner, or a mysterious stench that just won't go away.

Still, these motels are merely places to sleep. You can pay for the night and move the next day or you can put down a month's rent if you plan on trying to make this as much of a home as possible. Outside, the rain pounds against your window. Steps and parking lots are slippery with oil. On occasion, you hear gunshots or walk outside to find a trail of blood.

Nobody blinks. These things happen.

• Night Light: Someone in the building across from you is blasting neon lights directly through your window, piercing the thin curtains. It's three in the morning, you have work in a couple of hours, and you can't sleep. What do you do about it? Sleep on your neighbor's floor? Call a friend? March over there and confront them? Perhaps, when you knock on the door, the person behind it is someone you recognize. Alternatively, you're the one with the giant neon fixture and no matter what you do, it won't turn off and you can't find where it's plugged in. You're sure the people across the street are going to storm over to kill you, but you have no idea what to do. Should you smash it? Now there's glass everywhere...
• Stray Cat: You're having dinner or a quiet night when something meows pathetically outside your door. When you open it, you find a bedraggled cat, wet from the rain. It doesn't have a collar, though many pets in the Diadem don't. It's a perfectly normal cat, perhaps a tabby, perhaps a plain black one, or it might have cute white mittens. Regardless, this cat is now your responsibility. You can go around the Blocks to see who it belongs to, decide to keep it, or just try to put it back outside if you're heartless (it'll keep meowing sadly at you). If you do take it inside, you'll find that the cat is particularly rambunctious, batting over that bottle of wine you've been saving or jumping all over your precious notes.
• Horde of Roaches: There are roaches in your fridge. There are roaches in your cabinets. There are roaches in your bathtub drain. You pick up your toothbrush and there it is, another roach peering smugly up at you. Maybe it's time to shell out your hard-earned money to get an exterminator or just cut your losses and move somewhere else.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: Nobody's at the front desk to give you a key and you're getting soaked from the rain; your coworker is doing more than "skimming" when you catch them robbing the safe; someone throws a broken umbrella at your head.

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©

The Fringes

Quad 2: Domestic Bug

Conditions: Nighttime, normal.
Notes: A giant cube might be seen floating above the Fringes. Don't worry about it.

In the middle of the Fringes is a perfectly innocuous laundromat. Sure, it look a bit shady, but if you do some recon, you'll find it's fairly safe to go in. You might be able to find a preloaded laundry card on the ground or some coins spilling out of a pair of discarded jeans. In fact, there's a lot of abandoned clothes, as if the people who came to do their laundry never returned to retrieve their clothes. What happened to them? A newspaper lying around offers few clues, though perhaps it makes no difference when this zone, like all others, will soon vanish.

What's important is that there's free clothes you can take. They're hard to place in any one time period, consisting of jeans, t-shirts, underwear, and linens like towels and blankets. Why not grab what you can? Some of this stuff can be pawned and sold if you don't use it. You can find detergent, too, half-used but good enough.

Then someone else enters. The person who joins you is another fluxdrift. You might know them or you might not. They could be a friend, an associate, or an enemy. Whoever they are, the moment they set foot through the door, the air subtly shifts.

Players are welcome to create a generic NPC to facilitate their threads.

Bliss
You're pleased to see them. It's a small thing, but the mere sight of them brightens your mood. You ask them about their day. If you don't know them, you find you immediately want to. What's their name? Where did they come from? Are they new here? Can you help them find something? Wait, you can share what you've found. After all, there's plenty to go around, and you see no reason to horde stuff.

All in all, the atmosphere is simply pleasant, and your companion will feel it right back. They're eager to get to know you, too, and give you a few helpful tips. Perhaps...you even exchange numbers?

After you leave, you might not be sure why you did that. You tell yourself it's because the other person was so friendly to begin with. Why wouldn't you have responded in kind? Regardless, the experience wasn't terrible. In fact, it was really nice. Maybe it was so nice that you return to the laundromat to see if you could replicate it with somebody else.

Strife
You dislike the look of them at once. You're sure they're out to make your day worse. Every small thing they do bothers you: they breathe too loud, they're in your way, they keep digging up clothes and leaving them all over the floor (never mind that there were already clothes on the floor).

They don't register as a threat. They don't seem dangerous, at least not for no reason, and they haven't done anything awful to you. They're simply annoying, the type of annoying that occurs when you're on the cusp of breaking off a relationship or you're fed up with your coworkers after years. Deep down, you know it's not their fault. You just...don't want them around anymore, and their very presence makes you snappy and irritable.

Later, after you leave, you're not sure what came over you. Even if you're not the friendliest person, that feeling was hard to explain. Perhaps you find each other to apologize or clear the air. It could be the start of a new friendship if you reach an understanding in the end. And if you were already good friends, making up won't be hard...right? Or have you said something you can't take back?

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: Your attempt to use one of the machines shreds your clothes; you slip on spilled detergent; a pile of towels stacked too high falls on your head.

Main Navigation ::: ⇅ Top

Comments

INVITE REQUEST ∞

[thediadem]

If you don't know anyone in the game, or everyone you know has used up their invite for this round, you can request an invite here. An existing player (including the mods) might extend you an invite. Each TDM gives you a chance to request an invite.

We will respond to accepted TDM invite requests privately via PM. Please check your DW inbox. You will only get a response if you are invited, but if you don't hear from us, you can try again next TDM. Invites close when Reserves open on January 28.

Interested parties who are already friendly with existing players should approach those players and go through the standard invitation process. However, if everyone you know is out of invites, you may use this section.

Before you request an invite for yourself:

• Participate on the TDM so other players can get to know you.
• You must have a way for us to judge if you'll be a good fit. This can be a musebox, meme/psl threads, or other games you were in. We'd like to see examples of how you RP and engage with other players.
• If you get an invite, you'll hear from us through PM before reserves open. Be sure to check your DW inbox.

Before you invite a TDM player:

• Reply to the Invites page for the player you want to invite.
• We will PM the player with an invitation if approved.
• Please do not reply to invitation requests directly yourself.
• By default, we will not disclose who invited whom, but you're welcome to let the person know on your own!

Request Form
<b>Player Name:</b> <b>Contact:</b> (A Plurk or Discord is a plus, but journal PM is acceptable. Our main emphasis will be on your visible RP history) <b>TDM Participation:</b> <a href="URLHERE">Link</a> (either a top-level or tag-in is fine) <b>RP History:</b> (Link to past threads, a musebox/open post, and/or previous communities you were a part of.)

[blitzno]

Player Name: Shana
Contact: antivillain

TDM Participation: top level, tag in, one more tag in
RP History: I've got Blitz in pixieled which has locked comms, but TDM top level, another TDM top level, and a bonus meme thread because it's hilarious.

Thank you!!

TDM ∞ Questions

[thediadem]

Permitted Actions
Things you can freely do:

• Ignore the car and hitch a ride with another character into Panorama. You'll still owe the same amount regardless since Yom Crook won't cover your medical bills if you don't accept their vehicle. You'll also need to double your loan if you want a vehicle later.
• Commit crimes toward or even kill a random NPCs. Open violence in the strongholds may bring negative attention your way; the Fringes are fair game. Keep in mind three things: 1) all major actions should have narrative consequences; 2) NPCs in the Diadem are scrappier than average, likely armed, and potentially possess unique or powerful abilities themselves; 3) communicate and don't go overboard.
• Raiders can be anywhere in the Fringes. Add them to the prompts if you want extra danger. Characters can also murder raiders.
• Find a small weapon or other useful tool left behind at the laundromat.
• Force your character's vehicle to have ridiculous decals or color schemes they'll hate.
• Give your character a low-level job. Jobs can be seasonal, gigs, or longer term hourly work.
• Steal a phone. Just know the SIM card is separate so they'll either have to risk stealing that, too, or resign to paying for one.

If anything is unclear, please ask!
This includes if you're having trouble gauging appropriate consequences or the limits of certain actions. We're happy to guide you.

[callmehbic]

Would a character be allowed to find a beaten up (and/or gutted) swat van in the scrapyard? My thought was that Nancy would likely want something big and noticeable.

Shadowheart | Baldur's Gate 3

[sharranselunite]

Shadowheart did not expect to get a one-two punch of being magically blinded and backhanded by a Steel Watch, and yet that is exactly what happened to her. Dropping to the floor, she struggled to blink away the darkness clouding her eyes, and something in the atmosphere abruptly changed. She wondered if she got hit harder than she knew, because one moment she closed her eyes, and the next, she opened them to an unexpected masked face.

Startled, she did the logical thing of screaming and trying to swipe at the face with her fist, needing to be held down before her nails clawed anything out. Her mace was no where to be seen, and she had somehow changed into her camp clothes instead of armor. It was one Hells of a wakeup. It took some time before she was willing to listen and stop struggling, but even then, she looked skeptically at everyone. Lies are a common part of her life, and this was one damned lie. Shar must be torturing me again. It was too good to be true that she was free.

The monstrocity machines that they tried to force her into looking at were offensive. She could walk! She'd walked all over the continent at this point. She can be found scowling and looking at each vehicle with suspicious eyes. "So it's like a carriage. An overly fast and ugly carriage." Shadowheart is unimpressed, but she supposes if she's stuck here, she may as well get around quicker than her feet. Shadowheart is a striking woman with white hair tied into a very long braid to her back and sharp elf ears.

At one point, she agrees to be shown by a local man how to drive a stick shift, and the two disappear into the car. About ten minutes later, there is some shouting and the sound of a scuffle, and then the man is kicked out of the car fully naked, outside of his shoes. He swears obscenities and tries to grip the now locked door, and then she peels off with a loud squeal of tires, shooting dust up at everyone in the area.

Whether you witnessed this or not, you can find her only about twenty miles later, pulled over on the side of the road. Shadowheart is wearing warmer clothes that are at least two sizes too big for her, making her look unwieldy, and she is at times being very peaceful. Kneeling on the ground, her hands clasped, she murmurs prayers under her breath, prayers that will go unanswered. Or she may be sitting on the hood, taking deep breaths and meditating in a hope for calm.

Or she may be screaming her own amount of obscenities at the car as she kicks the tires. None of it does any damage because she's wearing her camp boots, and they are far from impressive or dangerous. It's the thought that counts. Stop if you're willing to give her a ride or try to teach her how to drive without being robbed of your clothing.

Eventually, she makes it to Panorama, and it's so surreally different from Baldur's Gate. It's overwhelming to say the least, and then it's always raining too. She can barely see everything for all the rain, and ends up at a motel looking like a drowned rat, her silver hair sticking out of her long braid. "Oh I'm sorry, I left my gold in the otherworld," she says sarcastically to the inn (motel) keeper,
"I'd be happy to go and get it, but I've been flung across the universe by a vengeful goddess!"

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out, giving her most apologetic look, which works well considering she's basically in a wretched state at the moment with smudged eyeliner. "I apologize, I am out of sorts, please allow me to barter for your least impressive room. I will take a corridor or a floor if it suits you." When she gets the key to the door, clutching it tightly in her fist, she looks confused as she glances around the floors and numbers. Everything here is so large. She might need directions.

LAUNDROMAT

Shadowheart is still not good at driving, nor does she enjoy it, but when she heard through whisperings on the streets that there is a place with free clothes, she climbed inside and did her best to get there. It took twice as long as an experienced driver, but there was no accident. She brings a bag with her, and just starts storing the clothes still left behind inside, grabbing anything that is even remotely female-appearing like a desperate hoarder.

When someone arrives, she stands up straight, green eyes narrowing in their direction as if uncertain if they're friend or foe. She's used to occasionally getting into unexpected fights with threats out of no where, so she's always ready. Yet as her eyes fall on your face, something changes.

If it's bliss, her expression softens in a way it rarely does, and her smile is hesitant, forced, but there. "Hello...." Shadowheart looks around her, and impulsively picks up a nearby shirt, offering it over. "I think this would look good on you." She isn't the type to offer that typically, but in her gut, she feels like it's right. She only hopes the other person thinks so.

If it's strife, her gaze is sharp, her lips pressed tightly together in displeasure. She holds tightly onto her bag as if she plans on using it as a weapon if need be, keeping her distance. She darts forward to take a shirt right before them. "It would look terrible on you anyway," she says snarkily, putting it with the rest of the clothes she's pilfered.

Closed to Karlach & Astarion

[sharranselunite]

Shadowheart is having a no good, very bad day. The man whose clothes she stole smelled like oil and steel, and she's already tired of it reeking off of her. At least the cold doesn't get to her like it should, except it's pouring rain and it's clinging to her skin in the worst way. It's clammy and after too long, she simply rips the hat she stole off her head, letting her silver braid loose down her back.

The problem is the rain has soaked it too, and some of it is coming out, sticking in different directions, and the very bottom of her braid has been released completely. She was directed to a motel where she is told people stay, because she can certainly not sleep out on these streets like they did in the wilderness.

As she crosses the street toward the motel, a horn is beeped very loudly at her, and she jumps back, shocked by the sound. The car then spins its wheels and intentionally hits a puddle of water. It slams into her face with force, and she ends up coughing, her makeup running horribly all over her cheeks. It looks like she's been weeping, and perhaps she will be any second.

"Shar, you bitch!" she shouts into the storm, as if that would do anything.

Jasnah Kholin | Stormlight Archive | New Player

[elsecall]

— i. scrapyard

[ Jasnah Kholin, first queen of Alethkar, stands in the scrapyard, kicking the tires on pickup truck. An old Datsun 620, she's been told, though the words slide off her mind without purchase. All she understands is that it's some method of transportation and that it's been neglected. It's squat and broad-shouldered; its paint has blistered into flakes; its metal is freckled with rust like a disease left too long untreated.

She circles it slowly, tall and straight-backed despite the ache she still feels post-impact. She examines the truck as she might a prized horse: appraising its frame, the angle of its hood, the way one lamp sits a fraction lower than the other, giving it an expression she almost reads as sullen. The exercise is a welcome distraction from having woken up on a cot, from fumbling to button her safehand sleeve with stiff fingers, from demanding answers about where she is and why she's here and under whose authority.

And it's a welcome distraction from realizing, cold and undeniable, that she is far, far from Roshar.

Her bare right hand rests on the truck's broad nose. Reflex takes over and she reaches inward, for stormlight, for the familiar thrum of power waiting to be drawn. A single breath should suffice to coax the atoms of this machine to change. She aims small, trying to shift only the colour. Nothing happens. No stormlight. No spren. The same nothing she has met every time she's reached for it since arriving. ]

Storms. [ She swears, the word sharp and vicious in her mouth. Frustration cracks through her composure before she reins it back in. She is sore (hips, ribs, shoulders) and running on the thin fumes of adrenaline. And the heavier, older dread she remembers too well from the last time she misplaced herself between realms.

With more unhappy muttering, Jasnah spreads the how-to manual across the hood. She smoothes it flat with her left arm, the extra-long sleeve buttoned neatly over her safehand. If she can’t rely on power, then she’ll rely on process. Jasnah inhales, squares her shoulders, and begins the one task she knows she can master: learning how to operate this damnable machine and leaving this sad little scrapyard behind.

But it's not long before she's flagging down someone else, someone nearby: ] ...Which ones are the headlights?

— ii. the blocks

[ Jasnah was told this one the last, lonely room left in this motel — only it's got a massive, glaring light flickering on one wall and casting a sickly pinkish cast onto the street, onto the building next door, even seeping under her door and into the hallway. Just as well that she was unlikely to sleep tonight. Even so, the neon intensity starts to inch under her skin and stir up some agitation. An hour or so of following its jumble of cords and glass piping doesn’t bring her any closer to shutting it off.

And to think she once thought there was nothing worse than a pitch-black room. Even now, she’s not wholly convinced.

She'll answer the door if someone knocks to complain. Alternatively, despite having paid most of her meagre supply of money for the room, she'll eventually quit it altogether and brave the rain to gauge the annoyance from the street — at least the rainy weather feels a shout gentler than at home

Under an umbrella, she stares up at the offending light in what must be her rented room's window.

Asking aloud: ] Why in damnation would someone install such an infuriating fabrial?

— iii. wildcard & other hooks

[ Jasnah is an epic fantasy flavoured academic turned monarch who is more comfortable at a writing desk than a steering wheel. She's noticeably tall (6'4") and currently keeps her left hand covered either by a buttoned sleeve or a single leather glove. Ambiently, casually, she can be also be found:
— Struggling to park her pickup truck, maybe even at the risk of another character's safety and/or their car.
— Browsing shops with every intention of picking up a small notebook and a pen to start documenting her experiences. That, or a few cans of tinned food. Money might be a problem, however.
— Looking for work since money might be a problem. She's never had to support herself, but she thinks she's up to the challenge. This means she’ll be in and out of a couple of different business, etc., inquiring about positions.
— Choose your own adventure. ]

— notes.
→ Prose or brackets are both welcome.
→ More info.
→ Reach out @ novelties for any additional plotting needs.

https://media.tenor.com/VtLJ85ZOO5YAAAAM/britney-destiny.gif oh also belated cw for fucking dying

[recreatable]

The streets are dangerous, Verso is learning. More challenging than navigating a landscape full of monsters by far. People are always honking and shouting at him when he takes to the streets in his motorized bicycle—moped, he'd been informed—so he avoids it when he can, although he quite often ends up on the wrong end of a shouting match on foot, too. There's just no rhyme or reason to when the vehicles come and go, and it seems like he might as well guess at random whether it's safe to go out into the street.

Which is exactly what he does when he leaves the Blocks today, stepping out into the street just as a truck rounds the corner, and—

He goes careening over the windshield like a ragdoll, falling headfirst onto the pavement and screeching back a several more feet from the velocity of it all, leaving a long, dark red scrape of blood against the concrete. Motionless, bloody, ribs crackling as he tries to wheeze a breath in. Putain, he fucking hates cars.

gary barkovitch | the long walk | new player

[wrongfoot]

1 / scrapyard

[ Gary just stares blankly throughout Yom Crook's entire explanation. He understands the words but they aren't quite reaching him. Something about a car. He's not allowed in the cars. Can't even touch 'em or they'll shoot. A loan. He'll get a lot of money if he wins the Walk, then he can pay off whatever loan he has.

When he sees the open road ahead, almost on instinct now, he starts walking. That guy's still yammering at him about cars and loans but it's all distant now and eventually, he gives up.

So he walks, keeping a pace of 3.2 miles per hour. Depending on when exactly someone finds him, he may be quite far from the scrapyard, staring glassy-eyed down at his feet to make sure he doesn't trip as he walks right down the middle of the road. He's just walked for nearly five days straight and feels less exhausted than he was before, so he can keep it up for a while.

He sure wishes someone would give him a canteen, though. He's awfully thirsty. ]

2 / night light

[ Eventually he gets over the shock of it all and realizes he really should have taken the fucking car. It's tough to get around anywhere on his own, so for now he's stuck crashing at whatever motel is nearby.

And, as luck would have it, his neighbor is shining some bright buzzing light into his room. He's a country boy, this is by far the biggest city he's been to. He isn't used to lights and noise at night. He pounds on his neighbor's door until it finally opens, a sour expression on his face. ]

Can you turn that shit off, man? Christ. It ain't the Fourth of fucking July.

[ All the while he's craning his neck, trying to see exactly what it is that's so bright. ]

3 / laundromat

[ Well, he's in no position to turn down free clothes, and he happily starts helping himself. Luckily, a lot of the things here seem to be his size and he needs whatever he can get, what with the double loan on his medical bills and the car he needed to get after the fact.

Then someone else enters and - ]

3a (bliss)

[ - well, they seem nice! Gary's in a good mood all of the sudden. Maybe he can actually make a friend here. ]

Hey! [ He drops the bundle of clothes he was holding to go over and offer a handshake. ] I'm Gary, uh, Gary Barkovitch. Who're you?

3b (strife)

[ - what the hell is their problem? He got here first, he has dibs on the clothes, if they have a problem with it then they can kiss his ass. ]

What the fuck're you looking at?

ooc /

[ wildcards welcome! he's coming in straight out of a walk-until-you-die competition and is having quite a time. info here. feel free to hit me up via pm or plurk at dandymott ]

3a

[anelli]

[He'd heard about the free clothes at the laundromat from a passerby and knew grabbing a bag or two would be worth his time for some cash. Everyone needed clothes! The real problem lay in pawning the clothes off. Would the fashion be in enough for anyone to take off his hands? Well, it was worth a shot. So when he strolls in, Giorno fully expects others may have the same idea as him. What he doesn't expect however is the friendliness of the sole patron at the laundromat.

He's taken a back initially by Gary's friendliness. Everyone thus far since his arrival has been distant or cross. This is the first time someone has been nice without hesitation and immediately he's suspicious. But then he too feels compelled to return the pleasantries by taking the offered hand and giving it a firm handshake.]

Ciao, Gary. [He beams brightly, staring upwards.] I'm Giorno Giovanna. Um, it's nice to meet you?

jimmy ink — 28 years later: the bone temple (movie spoilers likely) — new player

[howzat]

[ OOC NOTE. the movie literally JUST came out so please read no further if you want to avoid spoilers! canon point is the morning of the day the jimmies go to the titular bone temple. ]

☞ 1. SCRAPYARD

[ She cuts a strange figure in the scrapyard, the bright red of her tracksuit like a beacon. On her head is a cheap peroxide blonde wig, haphazardly cut. It flutters in a slight breeze. She walks between the cars like she's grocery shopping, arms hanging lazily by her sides, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her face is a map of thick raised scars: on her forehead, an inverted cross. The others are from fighting. ]

Dunno what I'm fuckin lookin for. [ This as she comes to a stop next to someone else browsing. She doesn't know how to drive – never bothered. Gasoline means nothing twenty-eight years after everything went to shit, and cars attract attention. She offers a somewhat cheery smile. ] You got a recommendation? I dunno shit about cars.

☞ 2. ON THE ROAD

[ Cars, she learns, are easy as fuck. You just jam your foot on the pedal and off it goes. She hurtles down the highway in a bright red number that matches her tracksuit – gotta look sharp – and rolls down the window and sticks her head out of it and screams at the top of her lungs. No infected to fuck around with, no worry of being swarmed. Loud as she fucking pleases, and who's going to stop her? Not Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, cos Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal's not fucking here.

That's another freedom of a sort. Surely he's here somewhere, because he's everywhere. She's been everywhere and he was there too, so he'll be here as well. But right now it's just her. No Jimmy Crystal and none of his Fingers. Probably they got caught up with something. She'll have to prepare the way for them. He's always sending her away, making her miss charity so she can scout out pastures new. That's alright this time, if it means she gets to drive the car.

Then she spots someone on the side of the road. She jams hard on the brakes: the tyres squeal; the car comes to a juddering halt, skidding on the tarmac. She'd have given herself whiplash if she had the seatbelt on. But she just rolls with it. She gets out. ]

Hiya, [ she says, friendly, to the person. Looks like their car's not working properly. ] What's happened here then?

☞ 3. PANORAMA
CONTENT WARNING: blood, gore, death

[ She's never been in a city before. Or she has, but not a populated one. She's walked through plenty of fucking ruins, though. This isn't that. There are so many people, so many bodies. Too many for charity. Too many even for all seven of the Fingers.

It doesn't occur to her that she can get a place to stay. Money means nothing to her whatsoever. She's not even really taken in that she owes the scrapyard person anything. But as she wanders, squeezing through the crowds, gunshots catch her attention – she takes off at a clip, following the sound, but it had echoed and it's hard to locate immediately. By the time she gets there there's just the man with the hole in his gut, dying.

Jimmy Ink crouches. She watches. Her eyes are wide. She's watched a lot of people die, a lot a lot. Dying is what some people are born for: Old Nick made it so. Not her, though. She's born for better things.

So she watches. She watches, but he's taking his fucking time about it. He looks like he needs a mercy. Instead, Jimmy jabs her dirty fingers into the oozing bullet hole and pokes around. He screams. ]

Fuckin hell, [ she murmurs to him. ] It's just pain. Be grateful it's not charity.

☞ 4. LAUNDROMAT

[ She's never been in one of these before. The washing machines could be hours of entertainment: for a while, while nobody's here, Jimmy sits on a bench with her legs pulled up to her chest and her chin on her knees, watching clothes swish around in a tornado of water, until she gets dizzy. Then she looks away for a bit to recalibrate, before she turns her head back to watch again. She's doing this when she hears the door swing open.

Almost immediately she's pissed off. She throws a look sidelong at whoever's just walked in, lip curled, her expression dark and sour. Walking loud, breathing loud, acting like they fucking own the place. She adjusts her wig. ] Why don't you fuck off, yeah?

☞ 5. WILDCARD

[ please do mind the character's content warnings! hmu at crowders to plot or if you want to chat. i definitely won't be able to app this cycle because the movie's so new, but i'm really keen to bring her sometime down the line! ]

3, once again you and i threading out characters watching an npc die. cw brief emeto mention

[imperatour]

[ What is it about the alley behind renowned strip club Assets Management that invites gunfire? Furiosa is dragging a man by the ankles (passed out in one of the private rooms, not dead) toward the back door when she hears it, unmistakable and out of time with the deep bass that thrums through the club.

She drops the man's legs down with a dull thud, and she snaps her fingers at one of the newer dancers, big-eyed and terrified. Prop him on his side and keep him from choking on his own vomit are the instructions. Furiosa thinks it might be the girl's first day. ]

Hey!

[ Furiosa yells, sharp and commanding, out the back door of the club, metal arm banging on the side of the dumpster to produce and obnoxious clang clang clang, like she's scarring away raccoons and not responding to a gunshot. The actual perpetrator is gone by now, leaving just Jimmy and the dying man. It's really not that much of a leap to assume Jimmy was the killer. ]

Clean up your fucking messes, or I'll make sure the buzzards have a god damn feast tonight.

Peter Parker | TASM/MCU | New Player

[stupidbutgood]

Scrapyard - OTA

Peter’s not the most well versed in cars. He learned how to drive from his Uncle but given New York is plentiful in public transportation he never bothered to get a license or his own car. It made even less sense to get one when he started swinging around the city. That was way faster than any car or bus or subway.

Can’t do that here.

There is a vast expanse of nothing between the scrapyard and the supposed city somewhere out there. While he was lucky enough to land here with his webshooters they will not help when it comes to crossing miles and miles of nothing.

And hey, what’s one more loan? He’ll add it to the student debt he’s slowly accumulating.

Now he’s got a van that he’s inspecting because while the guy was nice and generous Peter’s not sure about honest. He’s going to make sure that the thing runs well before actually setting out.

His technical skills aren’t trained in cars but he’s pretty good at figuring things out. He can tell generally how electrical systems are supposed to work. Same with mechanics.

He’s on his back underneath the van, checking any of the hoses for leaks.

“You know, man, I gotta say given the dents and rust under here we might have to renegotiate that loan…”

Peter is not aware the scrapyard’s owner has walked away. He can see feet just beyond so clearly it’s the right guy.

—
Small Troubles - OTA

The thing about gunshots is that Peter can’t ignore them. It’s a personal thing and probably a sign he’s crazy but he hears a gun and he has to go investigate. He can’t just let a gunshot go because well… he can’t.

Luckily, he’s Spider-Man and can crawl out his window up to the roof even in a miserable downpour. Wet walls do not affect his ability to stick to things, thankfully. Otherwise this city would be more miserable than it already is.

He perches on the corner of the roof for a second, trying to orient himself and where the gunshot might have come from. It’s hard to tell in this city. Sound bounces around and he’s not familiar with the streets like he is in Queens. He’s learning because there’s plenty for a twenty-something vigilante to do here but he’s still just learning.

There’s not a second gunshot to give him a better idea so Peter picks a direction and jumps for it.

He’s got limited webs so he’s trying not to swing too much until he figures out how to make more of them in this weird place.

Peter drops into the alley where he thought he heard the gunshot and looks around. Yup. That’s a blood trail. Cool.

He starts following it, his senses on high alert. Nothing and no one is going to sneak up on him especially since there’s a gun and blood around.

Yay.

—
The Fringes - OTA

Look, Peter’s not above the occasional handout. He’s gotten work here and there while looking for something more permanent and suited to his technical skills but he’s not raking in the money. He’s got loans to pay off. He needs to save what he can.

A laundromat with mysterious free clothes is definitely sketchy. He keeps waiting for a warning tingle from his spider-sense but nothing’s pinging.

He’s taking free clothes, especially because his clothes keep getting soaked from the rain. He’s going to build a better umbrella when he gets enough parts. Actually, he should definitely look for a raincoat or even just waxed fabric while he’s digging around here.

Peter is holding a pair of jeans up when the little bell over the door tinkles and someone else walks in.

He smiles a slightly awkward smile because this definitely looks a little weird but man, this whole city is weird. Maybe he shouldn’t be so self-conscious.

“Plenty of dryers free,” he says as a greeting and jerks his head in the directions of said dryers.

—
Wildcard - OTA

Looking for something else? Feel free to reach out by DM to plot something or provide your own starter.

scrapyard

[opticular]

[ Working at the Scrapyard has its perks, and it's not just having connections with Junkers and being able to earn more, but also having the privilege of meeting newer fluxdrifts. It's a good vantage point if ever one's trying to spot whether or not someone they know just arrived. This theory's never proven, though, since the planet's vast, but Scott's good at reading patterns. And the more he spends time working here, the more he can clearly decipher them.

So, it's not surprising when he walks towards this young man's van because clearly, this guy just arrived to this world. ]

Hate to break it to you, but. [ He peeks under the van so he'd at least see the guy's face. ] Most vehicles here are like this one. A fixer-upper.

[ A small friendly smile slowly forms on his lips. ] You mind if I take a look at it?

Steve Harrington | Stranger Things | New Player

[bestbabysitter]

ARRIVAL
One moment Steve was struggling to breathe and stay conscious, tail of a bat-thing wrapped around his neck. The next he was caught by some kind of swirl of dark and light and a wailing sound he couldn't identify but would never forget. He shut his eyes against it, and when he opened them the tail around his throat was abruptly gone, and there was a masked figure looming over him.

The wounds on his torso seemed to be healed - if with scars, and Steve scrambled to his feet, throat still sore. "What the hell?" he asked.

The figure introduced himself as Yom, and he pointed out the machine that had apparently healed the bat bites, and explained briefly where Steve was. Yet another dimension. He didn't know if he believed, but Steve didn't argue, just took the offered keys to the car. It was a faded red old SUV that had seen better days. He stayed awkwardly for a few minutes, looking for someone to talk to other than Yom, but finally climbed into the car. The machine had fixed up the worst of the damage, but he still had a ring of bruises around his neck and the scars were still puffy and pink - and obvious, since he had no shirt or shoes.

It was just his luck that the hubcap went flying off. Steve grumbled, looking warily around as he pulled off to the side and went to look for it, hoping no one ran him down.

---

PANORAMA
Steve drove in the direction he'd been told to head and eventually found the big, looming city. It was blurred by rain, but even in the rain as Steve drove slowly into the city streets, there were people out and about doing something. He heard something like a gunshot in the distance but hoped he was being paranoid. He wished like hell Nancy or Robin was with him to make sense of all this, but it was just him.

He found his way to a hotel Yom had mentioned and parked far down the street in the only space he could find. He was soaked from rain by the time he made it inside and waited at the front desk, impatient and miserable. He was distracted from the wait by a small figure meowing from the doorway to the outside. Steve looked over to see a small, wet cat who looked about as good as Steve felt. He went and picked it up, bringing the cat out of the rain for the moment at least and scratching its little head.

He looked up, cat still tucked in his arm, when he heard someone come in, checking to see if it was another patron or someone who worked here.

---

THE FRINGES
When Steve finally got checked in the night before, the worker had noticed his lack of shirt or shoes and pointed him to a laundromat on the Fringes that usually had a lot of abandoned clothes. So Steve took the car he'd been given (well, sold on a loan he guessed?) He was more than a little distracted by the floating cube in the sky. He wondered if that had something to do with the way they got here, and if he could use it to go home. (Should he even want to? He'd been pretty close to dying when he was yanked here.)

He went into the laundry mat and found coins strewn about and a good deal of clothes. Still sorted through, finding a couple of pairs of jeans that would fit, and some tee shirts. He threw them into a wash and then went to the bathroom to change.

Not exactly stylish, but at least it was dry and clean.

He turned to go and stopped short when someone else came in. "Hey," he greeted, a touch wary.

---

fringes

[satanicpanics]

[ Eddie has been here for well over half a year now, without hide nor hair of anyone from home save for Mike Wheeler, and the two of them seem to be having the worst possible month. Eddie has been having a particularly harrowing time. Just weeks ago, he woke up with a handful of new (and not so nice) memories of home and some pretty impressive open wounds.

He’s been stitched up now, his body just barely held together with stitches and a prayer, but it turns out that mutant bat bites don’t heal quite as quickly as a normal wound, and the healing process has been slow and painful, with his stitches already having popped more than once. He’s running a little low on shirts that don’t sport blood splatter.

The man that walks into he laundromat with armful of bloody shirts and bedding could very well be a ghost. Pale as death, dark circles beneath his eyes from a lack of sleep, and a large wound on his jaw and throat, well into the process of healing. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. There’s a familiar face he wasn’t expecting. ]

Hey…

[ His response is slow, uncertain as he tilts his head and squints, not quite trusting his eyes. Not when he’s still so reliant on a slurry of pain meds that he’s this close to abusing. But it looks like Steve Harrington, it sounds like Steve Harrington, and he recognizes the wounds from the same creature that got him, scarred over now, unlike his own.

He manages a weak smile, unsure of what sort of reaction to expect. ]

So, uh, we’ve got to stop meeting like this, Harrington.

sciel | clair obscur: expedition 33 | new player

[searingbond]

☼ 001. scrapyard

[ It'd been a slow descent into unconsciousness. Sciel had been struggling, before slipping away into darkness, in yet another fight to bring them a step closer to the Monolith. This particular Nevron had been able to wield a new affliction against them — blight — which had run her strength down more and more, until...

Well. The woman loitering now in the scrapyard with her arms crossed assumes she'd just passed out and not died, but you never know. The line between those things can be funny like that. ]

Hmm... [ At least she feels more or less okay, albeit with a nasty ache in her bones that the medicine she'd been offered doesn't quite erase.

Fortunately, most things are water off her back. And...yeah, this might be a whole new level of weird, but either she'll wake up again soon and be right back at it, or...she'll have to do as the figure had suggested and make her way to the city. So, with a lazy crack of her neck, the Expeditioner makes a fairly quick selection and is then on her way with a rumble of the engine and a wave back at the tent.

Has she ever driven anything, let alone a motorcycle? No. But it'll be fine! ]


☾ 002. on the road

[ It's mostly fine. Except, maybe about halfway along her route, the rain starts up. Without anything over her head (except the somewhat-stinky helmet she'd been given along with her bike), Sciel is forced to pull over and wait it out, at least for a while, under the scant shelter of a roadside tree. She stands there with her arms crossed, peering dubiously up at the sky as it continues to unload over the city. ]

Merde. Probably should've gone with the other one, but...somehow I doubt it'd be as much fun.

[ Once she's able to get on the road again: anyone who catches sight of her riding the thing will likely note the speed and general recklessness and marvel at the fact that she hasn't yet totaled the bike. ]


☼ 003. the pavilion (on the job)

[ Need a lift? Anyone who tries a recently-scrawled number, now up among all the others spray painted around the city or hastily posted to boards, may have a motorcycle rumbling up to their indicated pickup point. The driver — a well-toned woman in her early 30s — offers a bright grin when she arrives, seemingly unconcerned with the idea of touting a stranger around town.

Hey, at least the rain's let up. ]

You called? [ Sciel asks, leaning back in her seat a little to assess the waiting customer. ]


☾ 004. the blocks (stray cat)

[ Going from sleeping exclusively outside, at least lately, to this...is interesting, to say the least. Sciel stands in the open doorway of the room she'd just opened, surveying the (hopefully) temporary quarters over a slow blink and a flattened mouth. ]

Well, well. [ Spoken on a sigh, as she sets her meager belongings down on the filthy, carpeted floor below. ] It's...got personality. Maybe not the best personality, but...

[ It isn't as if she has a lot of options, with her situation and current funds. Before she can really form many other impressions about the room (or even enter it), Sciel starts as something brushes her leg. ]

— Oh. [ There's an animal winding its way around her legs, rubbing its tiny, sodden head against her trousers. Immediately Sciel squats down, surprising the cat a little, though it quickly returns to slink along her offered hand. ]

Hi. [ She breathes: the unpleasant conditions of the motel forgotten. ] Where did you come from?

[ The cat doesn't answer, though it does, in its way, tell her where it's going. After it has its fill of her scritches, it pads through the open door and into her room, disappearing around the corner without so much as a meow. Still crouching and staring at the direction it'd gone, Sciel huffs out a laugh, picking up her bag again before following it inside.

If she's distracted enough to leave the door open, then who could blame her? The cat's got little socks. ]


☼ 005. the fringes

[ It starts in the laundromat, where Sciel is examining a pair of high-waisted jeans with interest, holding them up and tracing the seams with a finger. She's just slung them over her shoulder, satisfied with the find, when someone else enters the room.

There isn't more than a half-turn offered their way, since she assumes anyone here just intends to pick through some of the discarded clothes, same as her, but...when she does actually catch sight of the other person, she finds them suddenly much more interesting.

The first time it happens, the sight inspires an immediately blissful reaction. Sciel turns fully, teeth flashing in a wide grin as she steps closer, suddenly overflowing with energy and fixing them with the unbridled verve of an extrovert. ]

Come here often? [ She jokes, shifting the jeans from her shoulder to her hands. ] And, if so: do we really just take these? Doesn't really feel right, but...

[ The experience is so pleasant that, not a week later, she returns to that same laundromat. But...the effect is less enjoyable, the same time around, when it's mired in strife. Because just as she's arriving and spots another person already looking through the available garments, it's as though a shadow falls over the room...and the people in it.

Her usual, amicable bearing fades. ]

D'you mind? I actually need to get through. [ With a curt nod, she indicates the direction she'd like to go: to a pile just past the person in question, who's standing in the way. ]


☾ 006. other

( feel free to pm this journal or add me at kairaptor for more plotting! in addition to the above, sciel can be found doing some or all of the following:

• wandering around the city on foot (wearing a ratty poncho, if it's raining), continuing to get the hang of driving her motorcycle, or chatting up any other stray cats she might find on the streets


• sitting at a local bar, drink in hand, chatting up anybody who's willing to talk (and even some who aren't). there are almost definitely a few empty glasses already piled up nearby


• watching a movie at luxfilms, wide-eyed and completely engrossed, and definitely with a running commentary about the film throughout, if there's someone sitting next to her


• fighting in the dome, where she looks like she's having the time of her life, and after which she can be found just outside, half-beat up, still riding high on the adrenaline)

wildcard baby

[magike]

( rowena doesn't even get to place her order before the woman greets her. she'd stood by her at the bar, an empty stool beside her, and she glanced down briefly, thought in her expression as she considered the question.

but then the bartender is there, and rowena quickly gives her order (a glass of red wine), sitting on the stool as she answers )

I wouldn't say this bar in particular is one I come to often, at least not more regularly than the others in walking distance.

( it's a lie, rowena's definitely here more than the other bars, but she doesn't realise that. she's not usually a bar person )

tifa lockhart | final fantasy vii | new player

[sweethart]

a. scrapyard

[ tifa, at the very least, knows how to drive.

she isn't sure if that can be considered a small blessing or not, but it is a thought that she clings to when she's given the explanation of where she is, where she needs to go, and how to get there. there is a long back and forth, where she tries to get as much information about the supposed loan as possible––nothing about this seems anything but shady, but she also isn't quite sure what to do about this. if she spots you here, she'll give a small wave. ]

I'm not sure about this.

[ too bad!!!!

or perhaps you come across her as she's actually driving. the rain is pelting against her car, hard, until it gets to a point where she can no longer see ahead of her. tifa slowly brakes until her car comes to a stop and just sighs. guess it's time to wait it out and see if the rain stops. ]

b. the blocks

[ are you having a nice(?) and relaxing(??) evening in your motel room? perhaps you're unwinding after a long day of hard and fulfilling(???) work. well, it is about to be interrupted by a knock at your door.

on the other side of it is tifa and in her hands is the soggiest, most pathetic looking kitty in the world. once opened, tifa holds the cat up, an almost hopeful expression on her face. ]

Sorry to bother you! I was wondering if this was your cat?

[ the cat meows, as if answering the question. unfortunately, tifa doesn't understand what it says, so she just waits for an answer from someone else. ]

c. on the job

[ while tifa isn't a stranger to working, it is a far jump to go from operating your own business to scrambling to find something even a little non-sketchy to be hired at. with all her traveling, she has since learned that sometimes you just have to take whatever you can get, but it doesn't stop her from being at least a little picky.

and so, she ends up working inventory. on the surface, it's easy enough, but the lack of organization is bad enough that a few times she finds herself just standing there as she contemplates how the hell did her life bring her to this moment. so much has gone wrong. you can spot her kneeling down in front of a box, mumbling to herself about how nothing inside the box is what it's labeled as.

or she might wave you over, if you're working together as a pair. ]

Hey. Can you help me lift this thing?

[ she gestures at a box that is larger than she is. ]

d. wildcard

[ or anything else!!! feel free to dm me if you want to chat. i am currently on the fence about apping, but i wanted to get a feel for the game still. ]

On the job

[sharranselunite]

[ It has been a fall from grace to go from acolyte of a powerful goddess, to savior of the continent, to inventory worker. Shadowheart would typically consider herself too good for this sort of thing, but she is realistic at the end of the day, and she is going to need gold to survive. It turns out that she's good at inventory though. She's very organized and used to serving others in her church, so is the model employee much of the time, outside of occasionally looking down her nose at other people in the process.

She is suspicious about most people here, but the other woman has been a hard worker too, and Shadowheart respects that. What she can't stand is incompetence, so anyone holding their weight is worth acknowledging. Her very long white hair is braided tightly against her back and out of the way for work, and since she's used to carrying around a heavy mace or spear as a weapon, she can handle a box.]

Yes.

[ She reaches down to help, picking up one side of the box and hoping Tifa will get the other side.]

They're labeled terribly, aren't they?

lonán burke — oc — new

[athambia]

SCRAPYARD ➾ PANORAMA

"Look, I hope for your sake you don't work on commission, because I really don't think—

Well I'll be damned." More than anything that's happened up to this point, it's the sight of an unassuming rampvan that inspires this outward reaction. Lonán wheels around the front of the vehicle to venture a glimpse into the driver's side cabin. "That's a fair play, but I'm going to need..." Hand controls, holy shit. He can't believe his first experience with transdimensional travel is proving to be so accessible. "I'll take it," Lonán announces, wisely electing not to hedge his bets on anything more suitable.

It takes more time to situate in the modified driver's well than to acclimate himself to the quirks of this particular stretch of highway and soon he's stealing glances at the navigation compass as he heads toward the promise of civilization. Lonán wishes he would've thought to turn on the radio before he started the drive, but the silence can be easily rectified by picking up a passenger along the way.

And he's got the room. True that the area just behind the passenger's seat has been gutted to accommodate the necessary floor space for the folded mechanical ramp, but that still leaves plenty of space for a passenger or three to squeeze in. If he drives past any hitchhikers — whether it be a misguided pedestrian or a driver who's stalled out their own vehicle — Lonán will offer a ride, along with a suggestion:

"Hey, you want to try to find something to listen to on that radio?"

He slows down as they reach the heart of Panorama proper, scanning for parking. When he finally concedes that the best spot to do so is along a sidewalk between a lamppost and a cement planter block, he activates the ramp and hopes for the best. It unfolds like an accordian, perfectly aligned between the two obstacles. Lonán spares a moment to celebrate the small victory.

SETTLING IN

It appears to function like any other city, so the idea that he will find accommodation feels like a given. The man has been a guest in plenty of different spaces in plenty of different places in the course of his work — from turf houses to tower apartments to the occasional yurt — and he finds them all similar and different in familiar ways. The motel that takes him for the night falls well short of anything that could fairly be called desirable, but given what little he's managed to scrape together it's a wonder he found anywhere at all.

It's not that money is an immediate problem; rather, it's his growing need for everything that money can buy. Lonán has exactly one clear resource to his name, in the form of a very spacious Toyota Sienna. So it stands to reason that when his cash runs out he monetizes it. For one, it's a fantastic way to learn his way around. For another, he's got enough space to handle larger transports — be they groups of commuters, stalled out motorcycles and bikes with flat tires, or the occasional mystery cargo he knows better than to go asking about. Every ride with Lonán starts about the same way:

"So, you from around here?"

Or maybe one day you encounter him on the sidewalk glowering at a couple of entry steps into a building, or cursing in a parking lot where his wheelchair casters keep swiveling uselessly in a pool of oil.

LAUNDROMAT

This feels not-dissimilar to the laundry room in his undergrad, with half the machines taken by loads in various stages of completion. He's just glad there are front-loading machines at all, but when Lonán yanks the door of the last one open to find a comically small load — three socks and a pair of gym shorts — abandoned inside, he decides it's worth the faux pas. There's no one around to see him anyway, so he swipes the contents of the washing machine into a sopping heap on the floor and upends his own laundry bag inside instead.

"Nobody around here knows laundromat etiquette, huh?" he mourns to himself. That solves his most immediate problem, but in 25 minutes he'll need a front-loading dryer, too, and they all look stuffed to the gills. Emboldened, Lonán tugs the nearest one open to peer inside and, huh. That's a nice quarter zip. It's still warm from the heat cycle and the residual heat in the fabric feels fantastic.

When the bell overhead jingles to announce he's got company, Lonán is halfway to tugging the thing over his own head. He's got the good sense to look guilty, but only a little.

( general permissions + a little world-building information — This is functioning in part as a voice test because I've not really played an OC in over half a decade, but I've decided 2026 is for self-indulgence so here we go. )

— laundromat: dealer's choice for bliss or strife!

[elsecall]

All too quickly, Jasnah realizes that the havah she arrived in — a style of dress native to Alethkar, with its full skirts, tailored bodice, and an extra-long left sleeve buttoned neatly over her safehand — may well be the only garment of its kind on this entire planet. Wearing it day in and day out is...unsustainable. After several rainy days and a handful of unfortunate encounters, the fabric bears the marks of hard use. It needs laundering. Badly.

Which is how she finds herself here.

Someone had mentioned, in passing, that abandoned clothing might be found at this location. Her plan had been elegantly simple: acquire a temporary change of clothes, launder the havah, then determine whether this world possessed a style of dress she could tolerate wearing for more than a few hours at a time.

It comes as no surprise, then, that she is not the first to have had some version of this idea.

She strides in, posture straight, safehand tucked discreetly at her side, and opens the door to...well — to a man. Wrestling with a shirt. Jasnah stills, just long enough to observe. It could easily be his. She chooses not to leap to conclusions.

She pauses instead, allowing her gaze a brief, analytical sweep. Eye color — an old habit, ingrained by Alethi court culture. Distinctive eyebrows, noted and catalogued. The chair, likewise assessed.

She is very nearly past him already, intent on proceeding without comment, when something — an uncharacteristic hesitation, perhaps, or a recalibration she cannot immediately name — slows her step.

Jasnah gives a soft, noncommittal hum of greeting. She meets his eyes and inclines her head a fraction, the gesture precise, restrained, and unmistakably deliberate. A silent hello.

Nancy Wheeler | Stranger Things | New Player

[callmehbic]

Scrapyard

Waking up on an uncomfortable little bed in a strange tent she doesn't recognize is unacceptable. Nancy groans, sitting up. It takes her a moment to really register the gravity of her situation. The fact that she can't quite remember what she was doing just before she got here is distressing.

But sitting around feeling sorry for herself isn't going to accomplish anything.

So she scrambles to her feet and dusts herself off. She seems to be in once piece, which is genuinely more than she could have hoped for. The guy in the mask seems to be willing to help. Nancy pockets the offered painkillers and bids the doctor farewell before following the masked figure outside.

For all that she's seen and done, Nancy knows next to nothing about cars aside from how to drive one. Admitting that prompts the man in the mask to point out a couple of options. After a moment of deliberation, she settles on a van that seems to be running properly. She'll have to find someone that knows more about these things at the first available opportunity. For now, though, this will do.

The loan- and the debt- is straightforward enough. It's not the best news, considering she knows absolutely nothing about this world, but Nancy is nothing if not good at thinking on her feet. Six months sounds like a decent amount of time now, but she's guessing that it's going to go by pretty quickly. Best to get on with it.

Panorama

The drive is surprisingly uneventful. Nancy's been trying to keep an eye out for anyone she recognizes, but she can count on one hand the number of people she's even seen or passed.

It's still too early to decide how she feels about the size of this place, but maybe the odds of finding someone she knows will be higher here.

She's not thrilled about the rain, but at least it's better than having to deal with mountains of snow. An umbrella or a raincoat would make dealing with this a lot easier, but Nancy is currently in money-saving mode. It's not the first time she's had to contend with a little rain, and it won't likely be the last time.

When she's not on the hunt for a face she recognizes or trying to get a sense of the city's layout and major landmarks, the job postings are where she's focusing most of her attention.

In the end, she settles for seasonal work in inventory management- which is just a fancy way of saying that she's doing a lot of counting. It's not the most exciting thing in the world, but that's probably why there aren't a lot of people scrambling to do it. She's even willing to attempt to be friendly with her assigned partner as long as they're willing to stay out of her way.

Choose Your Own

Ye olde wildcard option. Feel free to find Nancy pretty much anywhere that player characters are allowed to be- or maybe somewhere they're not. She's nosy and willing to stick her nose in places she probably shouldn't. I'll match either format, so follow your heart. Catch me on plurk or discord @ cornyflake if you'd like to chat or set up something more specific. ETA: Nancy is post s5 (but pre-epilogue) and I'm willing to avoid spoilers as much as possible!

panorama...also changes ur format

[satanicpanics]

[ Eddie doesn’t hope to find a lot of familiar faces anymore. Better to be pleasantly surprised rather than utterly disappointed, right? Mike’s arrive was a goddamn miracle as far as he’s concerned, even if the two of them do seem to be having the world’s worst time holding it together right now.

That’s why, parked illegally in his van one the side of the road (no one’s going to do anything about it here; it’s fine), he does a double-take so immense that he nearly strains his neck when he spies a familiar head of curly hair trudging through the rain. He tilts his head and rolls down the raindrop-covered window. Still not quite trusting his eyes, he continues to stare for another half a moment before he finally calls out: ]

Nancy Wheeler.

[ It may be just like seeing a ghost—especially because he looks like one. He’s paler than he has any right to be, the dark circles beneath his eyes standing out in shocking contrast. There’s a large wound on his jaw and neck, still in the process of healing, and that’s just what’s visible. The rest of him is being together with nothing but stitches and a whole lot of hope.

He looks uncertain, but he manages a wry smile, and it brings a light to his eyes that’s far too lively for a ghost. ]

Can I interest you in a brief refuge from—

[ He waves a hand, vaguely gesturing to the pouring rain. ]

That.

james t. kirk // star trek aos // current

[winscenario]

ROADSIDE

[ It's hard to find things to be grateful in a situation like this. Granted, Jim doesn't like the impending doom of being sucked into the void of space any more than the next guy, but maybe getting himself thrown into a random world, most likely even a completely different reality, isn't exactly the solution he'd hope for either.

But, well, he's alive. In one piece too, if with a few cuts and bruises. Most importantly, he knows how to drive stick, which is looking to be a life saver in this place. The options are incredibly limited at the scrapyard but Jim... oh, he loves all of them. He almost goes for a bike, but it doesn't seem like the smartest choice with the current weather. So, he goes for one of the cars instead, a gorgeous red girl that reminds him of those really old classic Mustangs. It's kind of worn down, covered in patches of rust, tires looking like they need a swap, but he doesn't seem to particularly care about that.

He probably should have, though, because he manages maybe forty or fifty minutes before she dies on him in the middle of nowhere. As much as he tries to start the engine again, it just seizes and refuses to play along. On the dashboard, the fuel gauge is below zero, which is probably his issue here. Jim groans and smacks his hands on the wheel, the horn going off. ] Fuck!

[ In the distance there are some threatening clouds looming closer, too. A little help would be very much appreciated, and the sooner the better. ]

PANORAMA

[ Reaching population is a relief, but it's not everything he was hoping for. The city's too large to explore it all in one go, but after he spends a full day trying, he comes to the dawning and terrifying realization that he might just be alone here.

Well, not alone alone, but definitely alone from his world. Both his comm device and tricorder have proven completely useless, and frankly, he doesn't know where to even begin. But he does know he needs to eat and sleep somewhere, and apparently he needs credits for that. Ugh, currency.

So, step one: find a job. Any job, frankly. If it pays, it'll have to do. There are several places looking for people for inventory work, and really, can't get much easier than counting. So, he takes those jobs. One after the other, so you may end up paired with him on several different places, whether it's that tire shop, a supermarket or warehouse, or the backroom of a big diner. He's mostly quiet as he works, but he'll spare a glance at whoever joins him, maybe even a smile if they seem friendly. ]

Hey. I'm already done with that side.

[ Everything else in the city is loud, strange and not always easy to get used to. The rain is unrelenting even with boots and a weak umbrella he's managed to buy, and the wind that comes with it only makes it worse. He's just stepped outside after a shift and barely manages a few steps before a gust of wind catches said flimsy umbrella, and despite his incredibly pathetic struggle, desperately clutching to the handle with one hand and the edge of the umbrella with the other, the stupid thing just flips completely. He gives up with a sigh, shoulders dropping while he stares at the mangled remains he's still holding in his hand, rain now falling directly on his head. ]

Yeah... this tracks. [ That's what he gets for trying to save on gas and walking to work. ]

LAUNDROMAT

[ Good things seem few and far between around here. At least that's his personal experience so far. That said, stumbling onto this laundromat turns out to be a very good thing.

He may have been more scrupulous about helping himself to clothes that may belong to someone else, but needs must and all that. He's not too much of a stickler for laws, especially in a world that's not his own, and he's been clinging to his survival suit and some old jeans and sweater full of holes that he found discarded at the motel for well over a week now. He desperately needs more clothes. If he doesn't have to pay for them? Even better.

He's currently going through the messy piles when the little bell on the door rings, and he looks over, pausing with a nice looking jacket in hand. There's some hesitation for the flicker of a second, as though he expects whoever just stepped in to be the actual owner of the clothes he's currently picking at. ]

Uh... hi?

((ooc: up for either the good or the bad prompt, roll with whatever you're feeling!))

roadside

[purehope]

( she'd been arguing with the guy that seemed in charge (he wasn't) at the scrapyard when she saw him. the uniform had made him stand out, and even though the design was a relic itself, it was hard not to find something familiar about it.

starfleet.

so she'd beelined, introduced herself, talked her way into sharing a ride since they were both apparently going to the same place and clearly had a few things to talk about. it's how she ends up in the mustang, bare feet on the dash (go with it) and lazily chatting about random topics as she watches out of the window.

until it starts to sputter and stop. and then doesn't start again )

I thought you said you knew how to work this?

( unhelpful, nahla. especially when you are the girl who is hitching the ride and even more clueless )

Dayna Jurgens | The Stand | New Player | OTA

[bananaclip]

i. city life —

(( cw: reference to previous suicide attempt, injury to throat ))

It's been a couple days since Dayna arrived, and she's starting to get used to things, even the relentless water falling from the sky. She just has a few possessions she's managed to procure since arriving, and has just secured a job today. Upon arrival, she had been surprised to awaken intact but for a gash to her throat—a gash that was much more shallow than she might have expected, though of course she hadn't expected to awaken from that injury at all.

Dayna heads back to her room after coming in from work... then tears right back down to the lobby, rushing to the front desk.

"Someone stole all my shit out of my room," she informs whoever's back there.

As far as she's concerned, this is the hotel's responsibility.

ii. laundry time —

Dayna's been trying to avoid needing to go to the laundromat, or really to go out in the rain at all—she doubts it's a good plan to get the bandage on her throat wet over and over. But she does have a small load now of things that need washing, and she walks down the street to its location, entering the storefront and taking a moment to dab at the water on her head with a towel from the dirty pile.

She walks by someone else who's sitting by their washing machine, giving them a small glance and a nod. She feels a strange affinity for this person, just by the fact they're both stuck here on a random evening needing to do chores on a night off.

"Hi, there."

iii. wildcard —

(( Want to do something else with Dayna? Here are some possibilities for arrival threads or other ideas:

• Dayna will arrive with a significant but survivable gash to her throat, holding a broken beer bottle and a banana, and wearing a sparkly, black cocktail dress. She will be obviously surprised to be alive.
  
• Dayna will pick up a party wagon when accepting the loan for a car and will begin offering taxi rides around the city to other fluxdrifts after arrival.
  
• She's also good at engine repair and other manual labor jobs and will offer to do things for free for people, ven after doing this kind of thing for work all day.

Tag in with your thoughts or hit me up at insufficientdata! ))

ii

[nadine_he_loves]

Weird as it was, Nadine likes laundry night. It's one of those brutally mundane tasks that she finds soothing and centering. Something much needed after recent adventures. The vacation to the country hadn't gone anywhere near expected.

And it certainly gave her a lot to think about. Laundromats are great places to think. The spin and whir of the machines, the muted atmosphere, the off tinted flickering lights. She has one load, and sits by her machine in what could be Laundry Night Clothes - an oversized sweatshirt and ripped jeans - but is mostly just how Nadine tends to dress in her free time.

She glances up when someone passes by and greets her. There's a vague sort of familiarity, the sort that comes from seeing someone more than once on the street and nothing more. God knows she passes many dozens of people on the street daily, but only talks to a small handful.

"Hey."

Giorno Giovanna | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure | New Player

[anelli]

1. Taxis
[Getting a phone was easy with a five finger discount. Finding a sim card in the same manner was tricky and took a bit longer but he'd managed to get it. Once everything was up and running, Giorno had made quick work to scrawl his taxi advertisement and number on as many walls possible. "Rides done cheap and quick! Text GioGio."

Not one to wait around for the phone to ring, Giorno also took to the streets with his services. Often parking near other taxis to try to shout over their business or to immediately offer his services for a cheaper price. He definitely stands out with his obnoxiously orange car and his bizarre curled hairstyle that somehow kept it's shape despite the torrential downpour of rain. Other drives are aggressive in their pursuit for customers. Not Giorno. His lax, yet friendly, disposition makes him more approachable and while he is persistently trying to get customers, he won't insult anyone if they turn down a ride. Like right now as he politely approaches you.]

Excuse me, do you need a ride? I can do it 50% cheaper than that guy and you don't even have to tip me. What do you say?

[Do you trust this teenager to a) safely get to your destination and b) to not rob you? Trick question because its unlikely that neither of these outcomes will happen if you aren't cautious!]

2. Hordes of Roaches
[Sorry about your roach motel! Yours seems to be a particularly bad case and to make matters worse, it appears that minor amenities are completely missing. The TV remote is gone. The bulb in the lamp nowhere to be found. Even the toilet paper seems to have disappeared! In their place, naturally, is more roaches. Yucky! But don't despair, it's about to be your lucky break!

There's a knock at your door, and a blonde teenager awaits holding in one hand: a makeshift net made out of a plastic bag, and the other: a larger paper bag to serve as a roach kennel. Help has arrived!]

Ciao! [he greets with a dazzling smile.] I can hear the scuttling of your little friends next door. For a reasonable fee, I'd be happy to help you get rid of them.

[He definitely doesn't look like an exterminator. His blond hair is curled too intricately for someone who deals with bugs. His clothes have definitely seen better days but a bright pink suit and loafers don't exactly scream seasoned roach catcher. Instead his bright eyes give off the demeanor of a sweet kid who's just trying to make ends meet and not at all the deviant punk who definitely didn't release more roaches into your motel room to make a quick buck. Or turn squares of toilet paper into roaches to release into your room!]

3. Inventory
[The chaos of sorting through the new shipments that arrived at the restaurant doesn't seem to phase the blond teenager one bit. In fact, nothing seems to bother him as he keeps mostly to himself until everyone is told to pair up with the person next to them. Giorno turns and offers a charming smile with bright eyes;]

Buongiorno, it's nice to work with you.

[There isn't much time to chat initially as everyone is told to grab boxes and start counting them to be put away. Giorno is quick to disappear admist the initial chaos but his golden hair makes him stand out amongst the sea of day workers. Should you follow your partner, you'll easily find that he quietly busies himself with the work. His counts are diligent, and he's swift with the unload. Except a strange thing keeps happening every fourth box he opens...

Giorno's on his twelfth box before noon. He opens the box on the floor next to his partner. He grabs a tin of canned food, setting it down on the shelf before picking up another tin. Except when he goes to place the second tin of food, the first one has mysteriously vanished. In it's place is a moth that flies out towards Giorno; latching onto him and crawling down his body and towards his pants pocket. Suspicious, considering this is the third bug that has been attracted to Giorno today. Perhaps it's the floral scent that wafts on his person? Or his seemingly gentle personality? He definitely doesn't shoo away the bugs but it's a bit bizarre. Especially when his counts tend to be off when the bugs appear.]

I'm done with this one. Can you double count my work?

4. Wildcard
(If you want a different prompt, please let me know! Otherwise feel free to reach out via DMs or on plurk at sleepcoast. If your character can see souls, please let me know. Otherwise for those unfamiliar with JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, Giorno has a stand ability that allows him to turn objects into insects, plants, and other small creatures.)

3 hey coz

[kureijii]

[ Well, what do you know! While the pairs are hastily made, Giorno and Josuke happen to be standing together! It's as if they're drawn together, by some mysterious force. Josuke doesn't seem like he's here to make too many friends, mostly distracted by checking out the various items in the warehouse. It owns a few of the restaurants in the area. He does cast one small look at Giorno while the manager starts to direct them. Weird hair – as if Josuke is one to talk.

Funny how the evens-and-odds work out – because in the end, Giorno shares his Buongiorno with a totally different stranger (a nice looking lady), and Josuke offers the man opposite him a simple "Sup." Probably for the best. Josuke had every intention to slack off as much as he can during his shift. He likes the worm game on his phone. Giorno might hear a crash, some yelling, and Josuke's voice, "SORRY, SORRY" carry through the boxes of goods. This happens a few times, actually, although not every time had Josuke ceaselessly, childishly apologizing. Some, as the kids say, "weren't his fault," but he's always nearby when it happens, and extremely ready to clean up the mess.

Giorno's partner is nice. She's chatty. She's ignorant. She complains about the bugs that she keeps seeing and then laughs super hard about how much she hates snakes for no reason at all. Oh sure, Giorno! And as Giorno steps back from the box for his partner to check out, someone trips on him. ]

W-WOAH!!! [ CRASH ROUND FIVE!!! Whatever Josuke was holding has flown out of his hand and is now smeared across the ground. Looks like... jars of applesauce? ]

Hey! The aisles are tight, man, watch where you're stepping!!

[ Trouble is, Josuke tripped on Giorno on purpose. ]

megumi fushiguro | jujutsu kaisen | new character/current player

[tenshadows]

ON THE WAY

( Megumi notices the car on the shoulder, its hazard lights flicker weakly, barely cutting through the rainfall. He eases off the accelerator awkwardly, tries to turn the steering wheel as carefully as he can to try and pull over without ramming his car into this person's. And he manages, if just barely, and not for the first time, he finds himself thinking it's tempting to just use his shikigami to get around instead of dealing with all this driving crap.

He eyes the vehicle in front of him for a moment, the shape of the person inside, and what gets him up and out of his seat is thoughts of Itadori and Kugisaki. How they'd help if they could.

Sighing, he steps out of the car, shoving his hands into his pocket and making his way forward. His eyes sweep the road as he goes, looks into the car as he draws closer to check for anything that might be a sign of danger. But there's nothing obvious.

His approach is quiet, drowned out by the sound of the rain, and once he's close enough, he reaches out to knock his knuckles against the driver's side window a few times. He's mindful to give some distance, posture tense, but not hostile. Anyone else might try to smile, seem friendly, but Megumi's never bothered with things like that. )

Do you need help? ( He asks quietly, one brow lifting slowly. He scans the car and then the road around them again before his attention is back on them. He's not sure how much help he'll be in a situation like this if something's wrong with their car. )

STRAY

( The cat had been soaked, shaking, and very determined to sprint directly across his room the second he set it down. Towels are now everywhere. The floor's a mess, and his room looks like a hurricane has come through. While the room had survived, Megumi's patience hadn't.

Still, he's outside now, the cat bundled in a towel against his chest, warm and purring like it hadn't turned Megumi's room upside within a matter of minutes. It kneads at the fabric, presses its head under his chin, and acts entirely innocent and sweet. But Megumi knows the truth. )

You're unbelievable, ( Megumi mutters, more tired than actually upset.

He spots someone nearby and slows, adjusting his grip as the cat tries to climb higher, completely unbothered by his lack of enthusiasm.

He stops a short distance away, gaze lifting. He adjusts his hold around the cat, holding it out in a way that reveals it's been bundled intently in a towel. No doubt to keep it from escaping to cause any further chaos. )

Hey, ( he calls, ) Is this your cat?

( The cat answers by purring louder trying to lean it's weight back and into Megumi again, clearly offering no useful clarification at all. Megumi exhales through his nose, spares himself a thought that this cat reminds him of someone he's not allowed to think about. )

LAUNDROMAT, bliss or strife

( The laundromat hums unevenly, machines rattling and clanking with loads of clothing for some unseen patrons. Megumi moves through the rows slowly, examining the different things he finds, sifting through pockets, checking to see if any of the clothing might be useful to him. So far, he's found a backpack that he's busy checking the different pockets of, fully intending to take it with him.

In the space with him, his demon dog roams, sniffing and investigating the rest of the space. He tracks it by sound - claws scraping tile, the faint huff of its breath, the way the air moves as it prowls the space. Silence tells him just as much as if it were calling out.

Megumi straightens near the dryers, about to move on, when the door opens. He looks up as someone steps inside, expression flat, posture still. He doesn't speak. Doesn't need to.

Maybe they'll notice, maybe they won't, but there's immediately a presence behind them. Claws click softly on tile. A low, steady sound rolls out of the dog's chest, the first indication of what it might be before the person looks at it. )

Don't. ( Megumi says calmly, and it might not be immediately clear who he's talking to.

The demon dog doesn't retreat, but it does pause, looming just behind the newcomer for a few, long seconds before it drops to sit.

Megumi shifts his grip on the empty backpack and finally looks at the other person properly. All he offers in greeting is: ) He won't bother you. ( If you don't bother him, goes unsaid. )

WILDCARD

( prompt him! happy to switch to prose if you'd prefer. his canon point is the start of ch 153 of the manga. feel free to message me if you want a custom prompt or to work out some details! my dms are open or you can pp me at batbrain )

stray

[cyattie]

[ Megumi is going to find two wide, horrified eyes turning in his direction, Mizi's entire body completely stiff and almost robotic as she faces him. Something terrible has clearly happened.

... But not that terrible!

Her demeanour immediately softens when she sees the bundle in his arms, one hand lifting to her mouth, torn between finding the sight adorable and kind of pathetic. ]

No, sorry...

[ Visibly resisting the urge to give the cat a pet. ]

Where did you find her?

tara pennhurst // oc // current player

[highspirits]

𝗶. 𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹

[ It's a little cliché, honestly, but that's part of the whole appeal. The stories all make it sound easy, like America's highways are simply lined with dead chicks in nightgowns, getting free rides. Meanwhile, in almost thirty years of trudging through tall grass and dashing into headlights, Penn hasn't had a driver so much as slow down for her. Fucking urban legends.

This is different, though. This is new. That robot dude hadn't been human, but it had seen her. And if a robot can see her, then- ]

Fucking- shit. [ She yanks up her foot, balancing poorly, and kicks around for the rock she felt. The scrapyard could have at least lent her some shoes, once she finished explaining that she's never setting foot in a car again. Then, while she's still playing at the balancing act: ] Hey! Hey!

[ It's definitely a poor choice, but then - she's made much poorer. Waving two thumbs in the air, Penn darts out in front of the approaching headlights. Don't worry about stopping in time; she'll hardly put a dent in your car, as it passes right through her.

Anyone heard that story about the hitchhiking ghost? ]

𝗶𝗶. 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀

[ The timing couldn't be worse. Right when you've settled in, safe in whatever hole you've picked for the night - a motel room, an abandoned building, even your own car - a very unexpected visitor will traipse right in. She doesn't even have the simple courtesy to use the door, instead just passing through the wall like it's water. ]

Oh, shit. Sorry. [ She doesn't look very sorry. ] Occupado?

[ The answer is blatantly clear, except... the girl doesn't leave. Instead, she steps the rest of the way inside, peering around the space. Four feet and eleven inches of soaking wet teenage dirtbag have entered the building, she doesn't appear to be interested in leaving. In fact, when she turns back to look at you she simply adds, ] Hey, don't let me interrupt.

(( 𝗼𝗼𝗰: world meet trashy ghost 🥰 there's character and OC-verse info on her journal! reach me at ghoulsonfilm for any questions ))

arrival!

[nashua]

[ The thing is, Nash doesn't take this person for a ghost. Not at first. In her experience, they're rarely unbound from the last little scrape of life they had. They're rarely clean, glossed, talkative. So when Penn runs out, waving, hopping, arms in the air, she — ]

Fuck —

[ — and slams on the brakes.

Her entire car jolts forward, bouncing an inch, before the pressure bursts. Nash hits the back of her seat roughly, the seat belt being the only thing keeping her from slamming her face on the dashboard. ]

Are you trying to get run over?

[ Shouted, a bit roughly, from the window. ]

Murderbot | Murderbot / The Murderbot Diaries | new player

[ungovern]

[[ i haven't decided between playing from the tv series or books, so i'mma just be vague about it ]]

ARRIVAL;

[ Murderbot hates planets.

They’re dusty and full of freak megafauna nests for its clients to wander into and get eaten, and so difficult to escape from. More than that, it hates involuntary bond indenture. Like Corporation Rim, like… stupid neon freehold shitshow. But involuntary bond indenture by another machine intelligence? The fucking betrayal. At least, it’s assuming that’s a machine intelligence under the mask - it didn’t try to ping it to confirm, with having no idea what’s going on and how fucked it’d be if it outed itself, so we’re going by the little robo hands and two pairs of arms.

But Murderbot, why did you accept the car? The hot pink station wagon on monster truck wheels car. It couldn’t exactly go running off into the woods screaming “not it, not it”, and they wouldn’t take “I’ll walk” for an answer. So here it is, one rogue bot/human construct of a SecurityUnit freshly rid of involuntary indenture from genesis to a corporate overlord, now indebted to a used car salesbot (maybe) with too many arms and a dumb looking hat (that can’t fit right, unless its head is a bowling ball (and if it is, uh, condolences??)). Moreover, the car doesn’t have autopilot, so it couldn’t watch its shows on the mind-numbing 2 hour drive to civilization (not so thrilled about civilization, but that’s the most likely place to find a starport and hitch a ride off this miserable rock).

Fine, sure, whatever. It's a fun filled galactic adventure, it can handle this. It’s just like episode 937 of The Rise & Fall of Sanctuary Moon: “Kogi's Great Escape from the Multiverse”. Except Kogi didn’t get dumped in a scrapheap and bamboozled with a predatory auto loan, then broken down on the side of the road 30 minutes from town. That level of realism kills good media.

So here it is, hood popped, staring at the mess of rusted tubes and wires that make up the guts of this archaic monstrosity like the car might talk to it (if only). Just because Murderbot is majority robot parts doesn’t mean it knows how to fix ancient technology at a glance, okay, don’t be reductive.

Anyway - help? ]

TAXI;

[ So, no starport. Well, shit. New objective: paying off this stupid fucking loan for this stupid fucking car from the stupid fucking betrayerbot asap. Thankfully, it doesn’t need to eat, drink or sleep, so it can work 24/7 (living the Corporation Rim dream, y a y). Murderbot would’ve preferred finding security work, but apparently you need a reputation built for that and there’s no feed to hack and fake one.

Turns out, driving cab has some unexpected crossover with security in Panorama.

While Diadem is made up of all manner of weirdos and freaks, you’d think it might be safe to come out as a mostly-robot-part-vat-grown-human-tissue dude (gender neutral), but then there’s the scavengers. The ones Murderbot would bet might knock it out and saw off its arms for the guns embedded there. Not the first time it’s been dismantled for fun (or by mistake) in its lifetime, but not an experience one longs to repeat. So, no guns for now, but guns aren’t the only means of self-defense.

When it’s picking up its latest client, and some asshole carjacker with a knife tries sliding into the front passenger seat, it isn’t the energy weapon in its forearm it pulls up, so much as it snatches the hand holding the knife tight enough for some cute lil snapping bone sounds. It helpfully jabs the knife down into the carjacker’s thigh, before flatly palming his face and shoving him back out the door, ass over teakettle. The process takes about 3 seconds. ]

Watch your step as you exit the vehicle.

[ It yanks the passenger door closed, and with its new client safely inside, engages the locks. Meanwhile, some fool with a knife in his leg bangs on the neon pink shell of the car and yodels annoying muffled screams from the sidewalk. Anywho, it addresses its new client without making eye contact in the mirror. ]

Destination?

CAT;

[ At some point in the night, activity dies down, and Murderbot finds somewhere relatively safe to park, recline, and blessedly zone out to watch its beloved shows in peace. The best part of its day. Ruined only by nature’s professional griefer.

Lights flash inside its eyes as the media downloaded to its local storage overlaps the center of its field of vision. It’s five minutes into the fourth episode of season 3 of Strife in the Galaxy, when something scratches at the windshield. Blinking the media overlay away, it spots an orange tabby perched over its face on the windshield.

It’s not that Murderbot hasn’t seen domestic cats before, but alien fauna can be deceptively douchey. It goes back to its show, determined to ignore it. Then it meows. Then it meows again, and scratches. Then it does some freaky cat-wailing shit and you know what, that’s just rude, can’t you see Murderbot’s trying to enjoy a show here? Heaving a sigh, it slides out of the car and gently, cautiously, irritatedly picks up the asshole cat under its arms and holds it out as far from its chest as possible. Thankfully, the cat-beast doesn’t immediately gnaw its arm off or project acidic bile on its face. Small miracles.

Circling around, Murderbot faces the first humanoid it spots passing, eyes connecting more to a shoulder or chest than their face. ]

Is this your creature?

LAUNDRY;

BLISS;

[ It’s found a hat. It’s a lovely hat, a wide-brimmed sun hat with some (grungey) plastic flowers sewn on. Murderbot never got to wear a hat before (armored helmets excluded) - decorative hats aren’t part of the standard SecUnit armor or uniform. So why not? Why shouldn’t it wear a hat? Who the fuck is gonna stop it? Yeah. Take that, company overlords, it’s unpragmatically stylish now and there’s fuck all you can do about it.

Blissfully absorbed in sorting laundry and setting aside a small pile for itself, Murderbot’s too busy singing off key to immediately notice when someone else walks in. ]

Theeere’s a place beyooond the wormhole, a place where ooonly lovers know—

[ Once it spots the newcomer, it offers a completely uncharacteristic smile, and gestures to its organized laundry stacks. It makes eye contact. Somewhere in the back of its mind, it’s screaming. ]

Hello! Do you need underwear?

[ or hit me with a wildcard, i’ll roll with whatever! ]

laundry bliss because I couldn't resist

[callmehbic]

Hello.

[Normally she'd have a lot of questions for some random guy greeting her and immediately asking her about underwear, but today has already been weird enough- and honestly, she could use a few more pairs.

So Nancy smiles and takes a moment to look over the neatly folded piles of laundry.]

I do, actually. Are you working here?

Amy Bendix | The Punisher (S2)

[toughact]

I. SCRAPYARD (No Mirrors)

[Amy had figured life was going to start looking up, after the kerfuffle that had become her life while in Frank Castle's unconventional care — thought with fondness, of course, over heaps of unresolved trauma. Or whatever. She didn't really care to think about that. Focusing on a bigger picture, that was where it's at. Shooting people, friends dying, having bounties on your head, it's all water under the crappy bridge. Somewhere out there (after some swimming lessons), a life on the ocean was calling for her.

Ahyeah. That was the plan. So much for plans.

Halfway through a boring bus trip, some guy on his phone runs a stop sign and clips the back of the bus, and she finds herself walloping the side of her head against a window — lights out. Enter: Diadem's scrapyard. With stitches in her hairline and a new debt being shoved into her hands, she finds herself as lost as she'd been the day she fled her home, aged 14 going on 21 (if you believe her ID, which you shouldn't). The panic leads to prompt action and old habits: new name, new age, new backstory has she struggles to figure out where she's going and where she came from.

When she asks for something cheap, she's shown a 1985 Honda Civic. Totally scuffed up.]

Ugh, what a grandpa car.

[... But it's cheap, and it'll get her places. So she takes it. She very nearly backs into another new fluxdrift who is stumbling around in confusion; she pokes her bandaged head out of the window and calls out:]

Sorry! There's no mirrors on this thing.

[You'd think it was a stupid excuse for almost mowing someone down... but her Honda Civic is mysteriously missing every rearview and side mirror. It's fine, though. She's got a driver's license, so you know everything is legit.

It is a fake ID with the name Joanna Branson on it. Never used it before, so she supposes that's her name. For now.]

Feel free to find her:
- Almost backing into you with her mirrorless car, oops.
- Pulled over after nearly spinning out in the cold, icy weather.
- Taping a handheld mirror she stole from a convenience store to her mirrorless car.

II. PARKING LOT / HOTELS (Hardknock Life)

[Amy attempts every phone number in the phone she brought from home, and all of them fail.

But she's nothing if not resourceful; maybe it's just a matter of getting a phone that works here. Everything she sees people talking on is like... mega-ancient technology. She's had at least one generic flip phone in her life, so... doable. Maybe she should be more upset that she's been in this place less than a day and is already committing petty crimes, but her mind is going a thousand miles an hour on how to keep herself afloat. Survival instinct is a real monster, and she does feed it really well to keep on its good side.

After a phone is successfully obtained, she spends the night sleeping in her stupid Honda Civic, stopped in a parking lot that at least seems busy enough for safety.

Big, awful mistake.

When she wakes up abruptly in the middle of the night, she's vibrating from cold, teeth chattering. There's no working heat in the car — another fun perk about getting the cheapest, dumpiest car they had — so she gets out of the car and considers any kind of option. The hotels across the street are her best bet.

She doesn't bother trying to give a sob story to the manager about how she's broke, because that rarely ever works.

Instead, she peeks through windows until she finds a room that hasn't been taken for the night, and then lockpicks her way in. It's not the most ideal way to get a room, but she's so cold that she's pretty sure her brain's turned to mush. There's still so much to figure out — maybe get a weapon? Something other than the pepper spray she bought en route to her new life? Should she have a weapon? Her hands suddenly feel extra itchy without that shotgun in them. Paranoia leaves her too worried to bathe, instead peering out the window off and on.

Then, she tries to sleep.

Tries.

Sleep hasn't been her friend in a pretty long time. She tries to do the normal, human thing of sleeping on top of her mattress — but when she hears distant gunshots, she immediately scatters and shimmies herself beneath the narrow underbelly of the bed. And remains there, sleepless, unsure, plagued by questions whose only answers are probably shrugs. She opens her flip phone and anxiously scrolls down the list of phone numbers she's transferred over to her new phone, hoping maybe one could work. Frank's the first, because he just is — saved as ROUGH ROAD. She types up a text, hits send, and prays for something, anything.

I KNOW IT'S UNORIGINAL, BUT I COULD REALLY USE YOUR HELP RIGHT ABOUT NOW.
I KNOW HOPING YOU ANSWER IS JUST B.S. BUT... I WISH YOU WERE HERE.

As anticipated:

ERROR, MESSAGE UNDELIVERABLE.

It deflates her all the same. Every other phone number fails. Deadbeat dad, stepmom, Curtis, old associates she'd sworn to never talk to again... a big ol' scoop of nothing.

When she finally wills herself to sleep, she's only out for a few hours before the sound of the front door being unlocked stirs her from a dead sleep. Her eyes snap open and she freezes, listening, waiting.]

Feel free to find her:
- Stealing a phone from some surly looking guy's pocket.
- Half-frozen outside of her car.
- Looking for the cheapest snacks at a convenience store.
- As you enter your hotel room, oblivious to the teenager hiding under your bed.
- Pacing around the front of the hotel room anxiously.

III. WILDCARD / MISC. OPTIONS

[If you need to plot anything or have questions, hit me up on simpledog!]

Feel free to find her in these additional situations:

- Conning some poor saps using card tricks on the street with her deck of cards — in which you might be the poor sap
- May need a rescue from a pissed off person if the conning goes terribly at some point.
- Digging through clothes at the laundromat; bliss or strife effects optional, but I'm down to play them out as well!
- Looking for unlocked cars so that she can steal money out of their ashtray compartments. Just the change! She's HUNGRY!
- Open to whatever else you can drum up, tbh.

— hotels

[elsecall]

[ Jasnah notices the girl loitering outside a hotel room because she, too, is loitering. Mostly because of a ghastly neon light emitting from her rented, paid room. So ghastly and so neon that she'd started to feel as though her blood had started to hum with the same dreadful frequency as that light.

And while Jasnah had been unlikely to sleep anyway, cohabitating with the ghoulish pink light had made her half-convinced the only thing standing between her and a brief doze was the way it glowed behind her eyelids every time they closed.

So — grimacing — she's standing outside her own door and thinking through her options. But now, it's hard to focus because of the pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, and eventually when the girl crosses in front of her again she speaks up. ]

Something the matter with your room?

[ Maybe she too is rooming with a possessed neon lamp. ]

ahem. scrapyard.

[imperatour]

[ It's dark. The sun sets, so damn early these days. Furiosa spent so many thousands of days getting beaten up by its rays that she didn't know she could miss it. She's exhausted, spending every hour awake and a solid chunk of the ones she probably should be sleeping working or driving from the scrapyard to Panorama and back again over and over. It's fine. She likes to stay busy. Really, she didn't know what she would do with herself if she didn't stay busy.

She knows this drive now as well as the back of her metal hand. Can almost do it on autopilot, navigating from Elara's garage where she works to the main highway, never giving much thought to the new fluxdrifts recently saddled with debt or the novice drivers practicing cautious or not-so-cautious circles in the flat expanse next to the scrapyard.

She almost drives past the pink trunk, but her headlights cast the girl in bright light.

Holy shit. For a second, she has to convince herself she didn't hallucinate the girl, her mind substituting the collar for... something else.

Furiosa rolls her car to a stop. Gets out with slow, purposeful movements. Keeps her hands soft and palms open, although the metal one probably is still a little menacing regardless.

Her eyes stay wide, a little stunned looking at the girl. There are a thousand places to start. I'm Furiosa, what's your name? or What do you need? I can help you. No, none of that would work on her. She'd bolt right then and there like an animal. So why would it work on the girl? ]

I have a toolkit. [ Is what she settles on, shouting just loud enough to carry it across the distance. ] You can use it to take that off. [ Furiosa points at her own neck to signal she means the collar. ] I'm going to get it out of my trunk and put it on the ground. Is that alright?

p(inocchio) | lies of p | new player

[pinocchios]

1. skrrrt

[ if you happen to be near the outskirts of panorama on this fine (?) day, you'll hear a sound that's likely familiar - a loud screech of brakes, and then the equally terrible shriek of metal grinding against concrete for far, far too long. follow your ears to said offending noise, and the perpetrator is clear - a very poorly parked car. so poorly parked in fact that it has scraped against the side of a building on the driver's side, leaving a long metal gouge down the side of the car's body. the car itself has come to a stop, and the front door rattles, apparently stuck because of the gouge.

the door rattles twice. three times.

and then, from the passenger side, the car door very suddenly and abruptly slams open, right off the hinge, hanging awkwardly to the side.

a moment later, out of the passenger's side pops a disheveled young man, staring placidly at the door now hanging from the car's side. he looks at it for a long, long moment.

... and then moves to very gently set it back into place, as if this will fix it, patting his hand against his side and then stepping back from the car itself. yes. there. fixed! no problem!

as he straightens properly, you may hear the young man murmur, ] Still not so good at landing. [ in a soft voice. why is this a habit ]

ii. wet puppet on the side of the road

[ now that his car's totaled (?), or at least parked somewhere and probably in need of a mechanic, the same strange young man is standing with an umbrella in one hand, expression still placid. happen to be soaking wet and not interested in being hawked at to get a new one? no problem - if you're starting to get soaked, you'll find the rain's suddenly stopped! standing there is that same strange young man, his fluffy curls now soaked straight down by his face as he holds his umbrella up over your head, carefully held by one metal hand, unbothered as water streams down his face.

the young man doesn't say anything, but he does give a very slight nod of his head and turns towards the direction you happened to be walking in. congrats on your escort! ]

iii. kitty! (canon compliant)

[ in the motel, you can find the young, strange man sitting in the hallway, holding his hand out towards a sweet little black cat that's bedraggled and pathetic, and despite everything, looking at him sort of suspiciously. he keeps his hand outstretched, patient, the hand skin-toned as opposed to his metal one held close to his side.

this standoff goes on for a good twenty minutes, and slowly, slowly, the little kitty starts to scoot towards the young man, who holds eerily, unnaturally still. and when it finally rubs against his fingers, the young man's shoulders sink, as if in relief, and he reaches out to give the kitty the tiniest, teeniest little scritch with his fingertip. the cat begins to purr. he might stay in this hallway forever. ]

iv. laundromat; bliss

[ you might feel like someone is staring at you in the laundromat. it is not a mean stare, or an attacking stare, but it is definitely a Stare....

track it to its source, and there stands the a young man in a nice blue outfit and a cravat, damp from the rain, staring with his very, very blue eyes. it's a little unsettling, but it's not threatening. he's just kind of staring.

a beat, and he shifts a tiny bit - there's a very soft whirring and clicking sound like a clock - and he dips into a very formal bow. ]

... Hello.

[ nice ]

v. wildcard

[ tag me! ♥ im protags - feel free to add or reach out! ]

iv. staring contest

[littlemushroom]

[[Staring was perfectly normal behavior, of course. Even if it was with a Stare. Those very, very blue eyes would have found a pair of jet black ones intently gazing at him from across the room with a similar sort of Stare-- not challenging, nor bothered by the experience. Just gently observing, wondering.

Of course by typical staring contest rules, An Zhe would have already lost. He was here to take advantage of the laundry, and he was always in need of some new clothes. Free ones were even better! So his own staring was far less continuous this time, punctuated by various crouching motions to observe an article of clothing.

At least until all of this brought him a little closer to the very pretty person who was suddenly bowing so very low. Oh. Oh???? He blinked, officially losing the contest for real.

??????

An Zhe, very human person that he obviously was, made a clumsy mimic of the motion.]]

Hello.

[[nailed it]]

wilhelm | young royals | new player

[ordinar]

I. SCRAPYARD: arrival

Wilhelm's conclusion about his present circumstances skips straight over weird dream to karmic retribution. It was all those things he'd said last night — sharp words exploding from him like shrapnel, terrible in their power to raze the monument of his mother. Getting disowned by his family wouldn't be equal to the damage he's done, so the universe took it upon itself to kick him out.

The masked stranger's explanation slides over him. He absorbs it in scattered drops, loses most of it under the buzzing in his skull. When he asks where the hell he's supposed to go, Yom Crook nods toward the road leading out of the Scrapyard and simply repeats, City's that way. It's only after Crook has melted back into the labyrinth of boxy car bodies and rusted engines and threadbare tires that Wilhelm thinks to ask for a pair of shoes. That's the cherry on top — he's stuck on some busted planet in the crack between universes, and he's in his pajamas.

When he gets into the car that's now his, the first thing he does is throw up. (He has the grace to aim for the cupholders in the center console.)

The second thing he does, once he's got the engine muttering, is crank it into drive and punch the gas pedal with the ambition to be anywhere but here.

The third thing he does, tearing around the corner at the border of the Scrapyard, is pound on the brakes. Suddenly, another car is there. Veering the steering wheel aside, it's all he can do to avoid clipping its back bumper.

II. THE BLOCKS: settling in

He wonders what he must look like, pelting barefoot through the rain toward the first motel he found with a vacancy sign — the first one with a vacancy sign, anyway, of which most of the letters still buzz neon bright. Broke and homeless come to mind. And, well, whoever judges him so would be dead right.

Still, Wilhelm has it in his head that someone will have to give him a place to stay. It's not his choice to be here, and it's not his fault that all his money is on another planet.

The front desk, as much obscured in shadow as it is smudged in flickering florescent light, sits vacant. On the corner of it squats a dented bell, which he rings. Silence greets him. He rings again.

"Hello?" he calls, unsure of where to aim his voice. "Excuse me, I need a room."

III. THE FRINGES: domestic bug

Following a rumor of free clothes, Wilhelm finds himself at a particular laundromat jumbled up in this dump of a city. He sifts through the piles of abandoned shirts, pants, jackets, and etcetra with a permanent grimace, trying not to think too hard about the items' previous owners. Or what could have happened to them.

Let's just focus on bagging a matching pair of socks...

When the door clatters open, he throws a look over his shoulder. And then a strange thing happens. Either all the knots into which his body and brain have twisted begin to loosen as his eyes settle on the newcomer, and he's overwhelmed by the desire to know them, like he's some lonely satellite orbiting their planet—

Or, his expression hardens into a scowl, and he snaps his attention back to the crumpled jeans he was inspecting. But their presence prickles at the back of his neck, an itch at the edge of his conscience.

ii

[cyattie]

[ changes your format i'm sorry...

Eventually, after a somehow noticeably awkward pause, a wide-eyed face emerges from the shadows behind the front desk, startled and sheepish like she'd been caught in the midst of some crime.

With a rub to the back of her head, ] Sorry, I don't work here.

[ And that much should be obvious: light scratches visible on her cheeks, torn clothing that might actually look worse if it weren't thoroughly soaked. (Or maybe it's not obvious, who knows what the employee standards are like around here.) ]

But I'm looking for a place to stay too.

julie kostenko (the legion) || dead by daylight || new player

[friendzied]

ARRIVAL

[ of course. of course. ]

[ she gets about an hour out, too far to walk back and complain, and her shitty little sedan dies. at least there was enough warning to pull up on the side of the road, small blessings. ]

[ tiny fucking blessings honestly. at first, she's kind of just hoping it's nothing she needs tools to fix, but truthfully it's easy to tell when your car needs a jumpstart and looking under the hood only gives her more bad news about this piece of shit that she's not mentally ready to process right now. which means either walk it the rest of the way, or wait for someone to come along and hope she can wave them down. and that they have jumper cables. ]

[ indecision seems to make the choice for her when she notices headlights in the distance behind her, and she decides to take a chance. tucks her knife away at her lower back just in case before she jumps out onto the side of the road and starts waving her arms for attention. please please please help. ]

ON THE JOB: TAXI

[ working in a garage is stable, reliable work — people in this city always need repairs, it seems like — but the money isn't great. isn't enough. so that leads to her posting her number up in a few places. neat, clear handwriting: a name, a phone number, one person only. ]

A

[ your ride is here! ]

[ a red lotus elise s1 pulls up at the designated spot. the body needs quite a bit of work, but whose car doesn't? it's clean and it runs well enough, nobody needs any more than that. she even bought a little tree air freshener that hangs from the mirror; a cold, clean scent. it reminds her of home. ]

[ julie leans over and pushes the passenger side door open with a smile. ]

Hey-- get in. [ her tone is easy, light. friendly. almost joking. ] Better behave yourself in here.

B

[ one second, there's a red sports car pulled up on the side of the street, nothing of note. it's just another day in the city, people getting on with their days. you, in fact, are probably one of those people just getting on with it. ]

[ the next, some guy bursts out of the car, running for an alleyway. it takes another second before he's persued by a 5'8" streak of blonde hair and flannel moving notably faster than him. they both run into people, it's the only thing stopping julie catching him as quick as she wants to, as she feels like she should. stronger than she looks too, when she shoves bodies out of her path. ]

[ the man makes it into the alley, and julie catches him, shoulder tackles him into a wall. there's a bruise colouring the ridge of her right eyebrow, or at least some red skin indicating one's going to form, and she descends on the man before he can get up. knife out, eyes burning with rage. ]

Better pay the fuck up, asshole. [ it's venomous, the way she speaks. low and hissing a promise of violence. ] Or I'm gonna take your eyes instead.

[ maybe you should intervene? or maybe you just want to watch. or maybe, maybe you're the poor idiot who clocked her in the face and tried to skip out on your fare? ]

THE FRINGES: STRIFE

[ this fucking asshole. ]

[ despite what the people who've met her here might think, it's not hard to piss julie off, but this asshole is hitting her buttons with pinpoint accuracy. the way they breathe, the way they look through the clothes. it makes her want to rip their face off, but julie tries to weather it. in the interest of being a decent citizen, you know. ]

[ it's getting to be too much, she stares at them, ends up slamming the sweater she was looking at back in the basket. ]

Do you always breathe like that or are you coming down with something?

WILDCARD

[ i'm open and easy! if you wanna talk first my pms are open. also feel free to assume they've met in passing or something to get introductions out of the way if you want. ]
[ ALSO there's a quick list at the bottom of julie's permissions of canons & characters julie would've come in contact with because dead by daylight is basically a murdergame jamjar. ]

ʀᴏᴀᴅsɪᴅᴇ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ;

[terrorisms]

( He shouldn't stop. He knows he shouldn't stop. He knows this is one of the most classic ploys of all time — you throw a kid into the middle of the road to flag down help, and when the poor bastard gets out of the car, the rest of the team emerges from the shadows to jump the hapless idiot. It's second only to putting a baby carriage on the sidewalk.

But it's a little girl — by Frank's definition, anyway. A kid. A young woman, potentially on her own, out here on the side of the god damn road.

He curses, but he can't help himself.

The headlights slow, the minivan drops to a crawl, tires crunching on gravel, until he finally pulls to a stop just behind the parked car.

There is nothing especially concealed about the gun holstered at his thigh when he steps out of the driver's seat. It matches the rest of the tactical gear he's wearing. As it so happens, she caught him on the way back from a job on the fringes, and he looks every bit like the type of guy who belongs out there. On the bright side, he sounds more or less mild when he actually calls out to her. )

You okay, kid?

Gale Dekarios | Baldur's Gate 3 | New (Returning) Player

[netherese]

🔮 the scrapyard

a. med tent

[Gale hadn’t expected a warm welcome to Baldur’s Gate by any means, all things considered, but being concussed by a Steel Watcher attempting to detain them before they had even made it to Wyrm’s Crossing seemed especially harsh— he was fortunate, he supposed, to be able to open his eyes now, and he groans as he reaches to rest his hand against his forehead, feeling a series of aches rolling through the entirety of his body.

Well. Everything hurts enough that he’s certain he can feel that he remains in one piece, wherever he’s found himself. Prison, likely; that had seemed to be the Watch’s intention.

His vision starts to clear just in time for him to see a masked figure leaning over him— a sight that causes him to let out a sharp yelp and immediately attempt to jump to his feet and call a spark of lightning to his hand, but in his disoriented state, only succeeds in a bit of flailing and rolling off of his cot to hit the floor.

Splendid.]

Now, excuse me, it’s hardly polite to—

[He cuts himself off as he realizes his surroundings are nothing like he’d expected, feeling panic threaten to spike as an uncomfortably familiar roiling begins in his chest. Wherever this is, it isn’t Wyrm’s Rock, he can be certain of that. His attention snaps back towards the masked figure, who doesn’t appear to be making any move to attack him, and he lets the charge of the spell he’d called upon fade as he lowers his hand.]

Where am I?

[Later, when Gale has been given as good an explanation as he’s going to get, the wizard collects his belongings and takes a few moments to poke around the med tent proper, trying to piece together what he can about this place as he looks for anything familiar. Eventually, he pauses in front of the MedBot in the corner, having been told it had played a part in tending to his injuries, and crouches down in order to examine it, feeling the strain of doing so in his knees. He reaches out to lightly touch a finger against the surface of the bot’s body, raising his brows curiously.]

Fascinating device, I’ve never seen anything quite like it— certainly not this size or capable of such delicate work.

[In his experience, most automatons are security measures, best-suited for things like smashing, really.]


b. roadworthy?

[Despite the fact that he’s always been a quick study and considers himself to be quite open-minded, Gale is still fairly certain he only understood roughly half of what he’d been told about the vehicle he’s standing before now. He frowns to himself as he leans forward with both hands planted firmly against the hood of his newly acquired car, brow furrowed as he examines the inside of it through the windshield.

Not so different in purpose from a wagon or carriage, but there’s nothing to pull it. Instead, he’ll be responsible for getting this thing wherever it’s going, and that has the potential to feel quite daunting. Still, if he wants to get anywhere, this is apparently the only way. Though he’s used to walking and camping as needed, he’s been assured that doing so is discouraged, and he’s not certain he would want to in a place like this, where the way of things remains so unknown.

He sighs heavily, drawing up to his full height and planting his hands against his hips as he gives the car another once-over.]

Well, I suppose you’re not so bad. How hard can it be, hm? If I managed to make use of the Blackstaff, I can certainly drive.

[Famous last words, not to mention the portal opened with said staff at the time hadn’t exactly lead to where he’d intended. Details.

He pulls out the manual he’d been given, thoughtfully reading the barebones instructions aloud as he considers them.]

Insert key, put car into drive— well, yes, driving is the entire point— press gas pedal.

[He pauses, scrunching his nose in response.]

Gas? That sounds exceptionally dangerous. Usually best avoided, in my experience.

[Any friendly advice from souls who might take pity on him is more than welcome.]

🔮 panorama

a. the pavilion

[Gale finds a place to park his vehicle as soon as possible once he arrives in the city; unfortunately, he does so with the front passenger side wheel having gone over the curb, the entire thing askew, but such details matter very, very little to him in this moment. The drive had been, in a word, harrowing.

He is grateful to have solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet again as he exits and all but slams the driver’s side door behind him, propping a hand against the side of the car before he turns an irate glare towards it, already soaked from the heavy rain that’s taken over the city.]

Never, ever again!

[Never, if he could help it. How was it that summoning storms and conjuring fantastic illusions came to him so naturally, and yet this had been—

Well, horrible, frankly put, especially when there seemed to be so few regulations about how other vehicles behaved on the road.

He doesn’t care for it one bit.]

I’d much rather walk than—

[He’s cut off, quite abruptly, by another car speeding past and sending up a tremendous spray of dirty water from the puddles that have collected in the street. Gale had already been soaked through from the rain in mere moments, but having muddy water splattered across his robes and face is decidedly worse.

He drags his sleeve across his eyes, spitting to expel the water that had quite unfortunately managed to make its way into his mouth.]

Mystra’s tits!

[Oh, how he’s quickly coming to loathe this place.]


b. the blocks

[The next few days are a marginal improvement as Gale goes about finding his feet. While this city is clearly primed to present him with any number of challenges, a challenge is something he’s never been able to turn his back on, which is really for the best, considering the state of his current lodgings. He’s settled, for now, into a room at one of many motels in the area, and while it’s far from luxurious, it’s hardly the worst place he’s ever had to lay his head. He’s slept in more bloody ditches and half-collapsed buildings in the last few months than he’d ever expected; he can handle a few threadbare sheets and some peeling wallpaper.

Still, it is a bit lonely. The evening comes and finds him propped up on the bed with his back against the headboard, reading a book he’d managed to trade for the previous day, the distant sounds of neighbors moving about in their own rooms serving as a reminder that he isn’t entirely alone. It still feels strange— he hadn’t thought it would, having been in isolation for as long as he had before his little adventure, but it would seem he’s become quite used to constant companionship. Though he’s always been a friendly sort, he had always been just as happy to keep the company of books as he had people. Books, of course, have hardly lost their luster… but he finds himself feeling the absence of his companions all the same.

This place, he’s learned, is never truly quiet; it’s much like Waterdeep or any other large city in that way, and so it’s easy enough for him to filter out much of the evening noise, but a loud crash followed by the sound of something clattering and skidding across the pavement just outside draws his attention to his door immediately.

He marks his place and sets his book aside, approaching the door and looking through the peephole to see if he can spot what might have been responsible. When nothing is immediately apparent, he readies a spell in the event that he needs to defend himself as he opens the door proper, arcane energy humming just beneath his fingertips. Again, there’s no one—

”Mrow!”

He looks downward, spotting a skinny-looking tabby cat with white socks on the pavement before him, with a quick glance towards the parking lot revealing the toppled trash bin that had been the cause of the noise.]

Oh— hello there!

[He relaxes slightly, smiling as he stoops down in the doorway, offering a hand out to the cat, who steps forward to give his fingertips a very cautious, judicious sniff.]

Where did you come from? You look like you must be feeling awfully hungry.

🔮 the fringes

laundromat

[Eventually, the need to scavenge and make some sort of living for himself here causes Gale to venture out into the Fringes. He picks up a few rumors and remarks about what he might find out there, but all in all, it seems best to treat it like any other stretch of wilderness— with curiosity and reasonable caution.

He’s never been to a laundromat of any sort before, but when he comes across the questionable-looking building and opts to enter, he’s almost certain what he finds isn’t typical. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here— that part isn’t so surprising, given that it’s out of the way, but it never hurts to check.]

Hello?

[He waits for an answer, but if he doesn’t receive one, he’ll approach a nearby cart that seems to be full of clothing and linens that are, if not good, perfectly serviceable. In this place, it’s quickly become apparent that beggars can’t be choosers, and while the idea of finding abandoned items lying around is hardly foreign to him, it’s interesting to see this much all in one place.

He rifles through the contents of the cart for a few moments before he spots a newspaper sitting on top of one of the machines, moving to take it up and look over the front page. It doesn’t tell him much, or at least anything that has any meaning for someone as newly arrived as he is, but other than being eerily quiet, the place seems almost… ordinary.]

Curious… it seems a terrible waste, for all this to be left behind.

[If there’s one thing he’s learned during his months adventuring, however, it’s that opportunities are meant to be seized. He gives his surroundings another cursory glance before he begins to look through another pile of clothing, the contents of which seem to have almost nothing in common.]

Waste not, want not, as they say!

[OOC: Available for both Bliss and Strife interactions!]

panorama a!

[recreatable]

[ It would almost be comical, if it weren't so sad. The man steps—or perhaps jumps—out of his car, looking as if he's just been to war. His hair and strange clothes are drenched already, and Verso watches him from down the street with a raised eyebrow as he shouts at his vehicle as if it's personally offended him.

(It's a little funny, honestly.)

What comes next is even worse—a careless driver ventures too close to the curb too fast, and muddy water splashes the stranger from head to toe. It's on his robes. His face. In his hair. Verso grimaces.

He takes a couple steps closer and, in a completely useless gesture now that he's already soaked, holds out his umbrella over Gale's head. ]

Not a big fan of vehicles, I take it.

Tifa Lockhart | FF7 Remake | New Player

[sonicstriker]

I. Give a Girl a Lift
[ It’s about halfway to the city it happens. Something flies out of the dark and cracks her windshield. She nearly veers in the rain. As it is, hands shaking, she has to pull to the shoulder. But the car lurches dangerously and there’s a loud sharp sound. She bounced off the crumbling road, and her tire is shot.

She closes her eyes, gripping the steering wheel. Deep, slow breaths through her nose. Then she hits the hazards, rummages around for anything remotely waterproof, and tries to flag down another car. They’re all going the same way. ]

II. Inventory
[ Money is safety. She knows that better than most people. The last time she woke up in a strange city with injuries, she hadn’t even been aware of the risk. She’d gotten lucky she was such a hard worker and that she’d impressed the right people, or she’d still be buried in those debts.

That isn’t happening again. She doesn’t know what the sum she owes is, but she’s going to have it paid off before the collectors come. She knows how to do this. Six months isn’t years. It’s not as exorbitant a sum. She’s been through worse.

So she immediately looks for work. Permanent always takes time and reputation, but inventory is easy enough, a skill she’s genuinely good at. She gets assigned a restaurant and immediately gets to work, hauling down some heavy boxes before her partner even gets in the room. ]

I already got those boxes on the left. You can do the recording if you don’t want to do the heavy lifting. I don't mind.

[ What she doesn’t say is she’s stronger and faster at it, so it’s the most efficient. She’d like to hit more than one place today. ]

III. Laundromat – Bliss or Strife
[ Tifa doesn’t love relying on charity; it’s easy for a hand out to turn into a favor owed. Back in Midgar, she’d learned to only take from place like clothing banks or food pantries.

She hears about this laundromat and it’s about as good. No security, no person to interact with, no way it can turn into obligation. She doesn’t love stealing, but this is more using what’s been abandoned. And the slums were good at that. She needs more clothes – it’s a lot colder here than Midgar – so she goes early in the morning, when the worst of the night life will have passed out but before the city has woken up. Deliveries time, which was her respite back when she ran Seventh Heaven (a shoved down pang of grief, easily written off as being here instead of the memories threatening to flood her when she closes her eyes).

She’s the only one there when she arrives, but when the door jingles, she’ll glance up from her pile of clothes she’s going to wash and keep. Maybe she smiles with a bright good morning, and maybe her nose will wrinkle uncharacteristically and she’ll try not to catch your attention. Hard, when it’s only you and her. ]

Wildcard and OOC
[ I’m up for any of the prompts. Feel free to adjust for your needs, hit me up for something else, or PM me. I love and welcome CR! Friends, mentors, rivals, neg, pos – I’m hoping this setting gives her a lot of leeway with how much of a bootstrapping survivor and little ball of sunshine around a core of cptsd she is. ]

inventory

[netherese]

[It's not the most glamorous work, surely, but beggars can hardly be choosers, and at the moment, Gale is in need of every penny he can possibly earn as he makes an effort to get on his feet. Really, doing inventory is downright luxurious after how he's spent the last few months, a welcome break from mindflayers and bloody battlefields, and having been assigned a restaurant feels like a stroke of luck. The only thing he would have liked better would have been a bookstore, but he's more than happy to see a bit of how things work behind the scenes here.

In addition, he seems to have been assigned with cheerful company! As jobs go, he's seen much, much worse, truly. He smiles openly at her offer, inclining his head to nod a greeting as he takes up the clipboard they've been provided.]

I certainly don't mind— I do keep rather meticulous notes, but if you find yourself in need of a break, I can certainly lend a hand.

[As that last word leaves his lips, he quickly traces an arcane-looking sigil in the air with his left hand, the lines a soft, glowing purple as a spectral hand takes shape before him, flexing its fingers.]

Just in case you need an extra, Miss...?