the sunken | part i

[groundrules]

THE SUNKEN

---

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Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.

Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.

The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @ groundrules to chat things over. We currently have 13 slots available for new players.

Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at eastbound.

LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS

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You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.

Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.

■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.

■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.

■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.

■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifully hilarious apt role for their seaside sojourn.

OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING

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You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.

Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.

■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.

■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.

■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.

■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

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Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.

■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.

■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.

■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.

■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.

■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.

■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.

■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.

THEY SLEEP

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After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.

■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.

■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.

■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.

■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.

■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.

■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.

AMONG US

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On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.

The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.

■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.

■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.

■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.

■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.

■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

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A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.

The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.

■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.

■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.

■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.

■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED

■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.

■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.

■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.

■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.

■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.

■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).

NOTES

■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.

■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!

■ QUESTIONS.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

Is there a plumber on board?

THE BEACON, MOIST

[groundrules]

Link below your finished* threads of reaching the sunken beacon by 30 May. You need only have completed the beacon part of the thread by the time of your submission!

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

Feel free to start a thread with any of the NPCs below (minding the notes!) at any time, with an eye to finish interaction by 27 May. Please be available to share plot-bearing information ICly with the group by 2 June, ideally by network post. Thanks!

	QUANZE TSAYMIEN Elected leader of village elders. A practical man, humble but forthright, willing to do whatever it takes to rid Yancai of its curse in time. Quiet, unless he has something to say. Abides no disrespect.
	TEMIU A veteran of the seas and former sailor, now 'retired' as the village's most proficient fisherman. Slow to speak, but patient, willing to hear a story. Carps love this man.
	MIANG-SI Once a paragon of virtue, now an accused lady of the lake. In the custody and chains of village elders — either her capture or time with the witches have rendered her whimsical and feral. Takes letters, seldomly, and answers cryptically.
	ALIA Captain of the New Brigade, a military ship of the Dawn's Reach Trade Company that frequently stops by Yancai to restock. Seems hesitant to both arrive and leave the village.
	KUTHUBA Elder of Yancai's ruling council, who survived several encounters with the ladies of the lake and willingly entered the forest. Man, woman or tortured beast. At once pitiful and slithering.
	KARSA Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices. Your guide.

TEMIU

[nachocheese]

Nacho approaches slowly, while Temiu is fishing. Temiu doesn't directly recall either his father or Mike, but there's something about old men that just makes him comfortable regardless.

He waits until they make eye contact before he offers a small smile -- hoping to show that he's not trying to be intimidating -- and says, softly, "Hey." A breath. He's quick to clarify, "I'm, uh, not here to take your money."

Vash | Trigun Stampede | tourist

[dontdeserve]

i. Lost at Sea

Vash has never seen this much water in his entire life. Not that much water all in one place. That much water. He was born on a spaceship, and grew up (for about, oh, a century and a half) on an entire desert planet. The only sea he has seen has been the sea of sands, and that is entirely different. (He has seen footage of it, on the spaceship. And he has read about it. But even that was a long, long time ago.)

But he is, after all, what he is, and all the moisture feels good despite the general... confusion that clouds his senses. But he is resilient, and unless one knows his pecular weak spots, illusions are never easy to settle around him.

Right now, he is sitting, frowning slightly at the papers he has received.

"Excuse me? Do you have any idea what a mermaid is ilke?"

... he's only read about them in a couple of books back when he was a year old or yonger. But if he has to pretend to be one, research is important, right?

ii. (don't) hold your breath

Vash may be surprisingly useful on the search for the beacon. He's strong, he's fast, even with all the water - or especially because of it - and he can and will take hits for others and keep going.

On the other hand, once they reach the room with the dias, he will get busy gathering up the scrolls because knowledge is good, right? (Are they readable? He'll find out later. Are they in a language he can read? Absolutely not. And... still.)

And also, he starts humming the song they are hearing almost immediately, but once he realizes that it is actually helpful, he'll probably sing it, too. He's got you all covered.

iii. Wildcard

ooc: hit him up with something else.

ii. (don't) hold your breath

[a_silent_due]

( Slosh. Drag, drag, sink, stumble. He's wading like a duck, fresh grease on her feathers, indifferent to shiver and chills and the riot of leeches yet tooth-stuck on his arms, grazing on his leathers. Never mind personal inconvenience — there's a room to scavenge for hot traces of a departure beacon, and Kanda, teeth at perpetual risk of shedding their enamel, is making progress.

...great, shiny-red hell of a target, big loud lout behind him. The belly of the vault room's just expansive and emptied enough to echo. The man's bird trill doubles...

And stifles, briefly, covered by sounds of paper pushing that break Kanda just long enough from his crusade of reaching the dais to turn around.

This is... this is a bad joke you're kidding him with. Put. Down. The stolen goods. )

Looting, you parasite?

( ...low, even by Kanda's count. The squint of his left eye's slowly but surely accelerating into a spasm, hand hot on his sword in a clear signal that an absent God might have signed off this shift to strike down all infidels, but here's Kanda Yuu, ready to work overtime. )

Lan Sizhui | The Untamed | old timer

[paperbutterflies]

i. the drifting - part i.

... don't mind him, he'll be up early in the morning - aaaalmost early enough to catch some of his real memories. The headache is absolutely not the best thing he's known, but it also isn't the worst. But it does mean he can't focus or accounts, not yet. Instead, you can find him belowdecks, bailing water.

And he's not even complaining about it.

ii. the drifting - part ii - the haunting.

The young children make Sizhui smile brightly when they first appear, but soon enough their words and tones make his face fall as he slowly walks to the prow, looking at the rapidly approaching shore. By the time they are mooring, anyone on ship or nearby can hear his soft, forlorn, baaaaa!.

He is fine after that. Really.

iii. among us - part i - in person or network

Of course he is kind to Miang-si. Even without what he knows about his haunting, that is just the way he is. He'll even bring her some (good) water and perhaps something to eat, once he realizes she's been brought from person to person without much thought for a break. Can they accuse him of benig an accomplice? Perhaps, but he has a boat to sail away on, right? Even though he knows he is not actually and never was an accountnt.

But still, that is why how later, he finds himself staring at his hand, then activates his network device and murmurs, both aloud and over the communication channel,

"Something might happen because of the moon." He is not sure, but anything written in blood must be investigated, even if it is too late.

iv. among us - part ii

... "Do you need help catching a toad?"

Look, he is not saying you need it, but if you want help, he'll catch them for you!

v. wildcard

ooc: hit him up with something else, he's around

[ Network; audio; un: Ghost General ]

[fiercechains]

[ Figuring out the device that he was given is not something he particularly likes. Though, it could not be much worse (or better) than Master Wei's devices.

When he does figure out how the device is meant to work he, at the very least, figures out the audio. ]

Do we know what might happen?

Su Xunxian | Oh! My Emperor | old timer | cw: memory of a death in second prompt, blood

[topoiran]

i. the drifting - crabs!

Xunxian is between two visitors, planning for a next trip, when another crab crawls up his leg. Instead of leaping in panic or anything like that, he siply reaches a finger to stroke gently along the shelled back. "Hello, little friend. How are you today?" Then he smiles, the answer clear to him and, belinke, nobody else.

But also he and Moran sleep undisturbed by them at night.

ii. the drifting - the haunting

It is the first time that is the worst. For a moment, he actually thinks that their young friend is there, so he rushes after him. "Shang Yu!"

But then Shang Yu does not turn back, and a sweet lady turns and reassures him that he is fast enough, he would get away from any danger, and Xunxian freeze, wide-eyed.

Then he runs after the figure walking away, but even though Shang Yu never uses his power, Xunxian can't catch up, until he trips and crumbles to the ground, the tiny stain of blood from the scratch on his palm against the rocks remindig him of the much larger stain they found him in...

Of the characters he had laboriously written in his own blood on the ground. Xunxian squeezes his eyes shut and punches the ground. He isn't sure who is doing it, or why, but he knows exactly how likely it is that that was not actually Shang Yu, but instead something to make him remember.

Knowing does not mean that it hurts any less.

iii. (don't) hold your breath

As a leach is about to bite into you, there is suddenly an elegant hand that reaches to gently pick it up. "Hello, little one."

Xunxian makes a bit of a face as he gets the bite, but smile up.

"Go on ahead. They won't hurt me too badly, anyway." And he is still not nearly good enough in a fight, if there is one.

iv. wildcard

Or poke at him with something else.

II

[beitangmoran]

[Moran was minding his own business (aka, trying to escape his own 'customers') when he caught Xunxian running after ... someone? He's not sure. But no sooner is he making his way forward to him that Xunxian stumbles and falls, and Moran frowns, immediately gathering his robe to go faster and lower himself by his companion's side.]

Xunxian, are you alright? What happened? Who was that?

Wen Ning | The Untamed | Tourist

[fiercechains]

[ Arrival ]

He is not entirely sure how he ended up in a place filled with sand. Nor does he understand what it is that he's handed. It was probably a good thing that the device translates their words or he would not understand what they are talking about. Nor has he ever heard of Yancai.

The warm meals that are provided were not needed so he makes sure that they go to someone else, someone who needed them more. He knows that, for now, he needed to make sure that everyone was alright and that they were not in any danger.

Though, when morning comes he's none too happy about the message. After all, he's been considered a weapon before. As for the passport papers, he would find out what that was all about after taking everything in.


(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

There were leeches that bite and try to get something from him, to feed. Did they feed on fierce corpses, on the undead? Though, that was far from the problem that laid ahead. Especially when the hissing of running water seemed to fill the room.

If water were to fill the place then he would sink to the bottom as he did not swim. Perhaps if he were still human then he would but he was not human anymore. The water does not, however, stop him from heading off toward one of the rooms.

When there was need for help then he would do what he could to help.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

The village was... wrong. That was the only feeling that he knew to put it as. Though, it does not show on his outside features. He has watched as the structures collapse and the shrieks hit his ears. Whatever the Tar-covered corpses are he does not care, not at the moment.

When the corpses go to swarm, go to drag anyone in, they will be met with chains. Wen Ning will do what he can in order to in order to help those that pass-by and keep them safe.


[ Wildcard ]

OOC: If something else catches your attention, toss it my way. ♥

Arrival

[beitangmoran]

[If Wen Ning starts exploring his surrounding, he might, suddenly run into a familiar face.

The face is attached to someone dressed entirely unlike Wei Wuxian, thought. Long flowing blue and silver silks, silver and pearl hairpin holding his hair back and as his gaze falls upon Wen Ning, no recognition at all seems forthcoming. His eyes just move on, until he starts frowning as a man suddenly pulls on his sleeve asking for something.]

The shop is closed, good master. Come back tomorrow, I don't have time today.

[He doesn't have time any day to be a merchant, but what do these people care?]

Clara Oswald | Doctor Who | Old Timer

[makemeasong]

[ ooc: Top levels to follow! My plotting comment is here and her role/assignment/haunting can all be found here. More than happy to whip up individual starters if nothing below floats your boat. Feel free to ping on disco @ lifewasawillow#5524 or DM me! ]

DAYS 1-4

[makemeasong]

Dᴀʏ Oɴᴇ
Sʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғʟᴀᴛᴍᴀᴛᴇs

[ The contentment Clara's felt at staying in a place like Yancai comes from one primary thing: knowing that her decision would make the Doctor proud. Not the bit about her job, but she helps where she can. Sneaking sweeties to kids, stepping in to teach stories, and keep people hoping for more. She likes her reputation of small but mighty. It's like the Doctor said: She's the Boss.

Clara's done outside for the day and returns home to her villa, wearing the gaudiest of rings on one hand and a tin of cookies in the other. She'll find the nearest roommate and offer a plain, but well-executed sugar cookie. ]

Feel like helping me reap the rewards of a good day of gossip?

Dᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ
I'ᴍ sᴜʀᴇ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ

[ Another day, another batch of people at the harbor with potential knowledge. There's a brief moment when someone steps in her path and while she would never actually demand anything of anyone, automatically they apologize as if they've done something awful. Waving it off, Clara smiles, all dimples, and carries on.

Just as she's about to hit the docks, right when one of the long piers comes into view, she's hit with a memory, of being on another dock, in another place. It comes and goes so quickly that she stumbles and has to lean against the nearest wall, closing her eyes, feeling faint. She's about the color of wallpaper paste and takes a few deep breaths in and out, wondering what the hell? with one hand pressed to her forehead. ]

Dᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ
ᴘᴀʀᴛ I

[ Today, when Clara is making that same trip down to the docks, the sun glares in her eyes and her head feels like a knife split straight through it. But beneath that, she remembers a friend. A friend with so much red hair. And then it's gone again, but the pain isn't.

This time when she tries to stumble her way to the harbor (trying to find a place to sit) and someone bumps into her, she has the least Clara Oswald reaction imaginable. ]

Is there anyone here who can pay attention? Bloody hell.

[ She winces again and remembers more detail, a conversation on a train but no names yet, before the memory(?) is gone. Forehead still creased in pain she does feel guilty, but she also doesn't think she can do anything until the pain goes away, once again leaning against the nearest solid object. ]

ᴘᴀʀᴛ II
[ It's some time later in the day that Clara makes her way to the apothecary. Her headache hasn't quite abated, she needs something else, and she realizes she has no idea what she's looking for very quickly. Exhaling loudly, she rubs her forehead and then looks around for someone who seems like they know what they're looking at.

She's much kinder this time than she was to the poor person earlier. ]

Sorry, the clerk is busy and I want to find something fast. Know what gets rid of a migraine for good?

Dᴀʏ ғᴏᴜʀ
sᴀʏ ʙᴏᴏ

[ It's been a hell of a thing, trying to reconcile what Clara thought was her own decision with what her life actually is: stuck. Trapped. The good thing, at least, is that she knows she has friends here. She's been holed up in her room for the day, pretending to read when a woman appears; well appears, because this is undoubtedly a ghost. It's always ghosts.

You're going to be the next famous explorer, I think.

The voice—her mum's voice—is coming out of the ghost's mouth, and for a few seconds Clara is stunned into silence, eyes about as wide as they can get.

Your dad and I can't wait to get postcards from all over.

Except her mum's dead, Clara isn't famous, and she never sent postcards to her dad. When the woman in white pats her hand, it breaks the spell; Clara bolts out of her room and into the closest one, slamming the door shut behind her and pressing her back against it. She's in her pajamas and looks like...well, like she saw a ghost. ]

Caitlyn Kiramman | Arcane | Old-Timer

[clavesregni]

I. The Drifting

[Caitlyn has always lived in Yancai.

So why does she have a notebook, in her own handwriting, full of adventures she's never had in far-off lands she's never been to with people she's never met? She doesn't understand how there could be a love letter scribbled at the bottom of one page, written to a stranger, when she's never been in love. And most baffling of all are the photographs of things and people and places she could never have photographed. The rest must be a work of fiction, something she wrote late at night while fantasizing about what her life could be if she had the wherewithal to leave and then forgot she'd written the next morning. But the photographs...

She finds herself with a miserable headache if she looks at them too long.

Find her sitting outdoors, enjoying the weather and a cup of tea, pouring through the notebook with a curious frown on her face.

Or find her standing knee-deep in the water, trousers and sleeves rolled up, trying to train a fish and getting frustrated at her inability to do the job she's had since she was old enough to have a job.]


II. Hauntings

[She can't seem to escape him. Always sitting, crying, pulling at the mask on his face and begging for her help. At first, she isn't sure whether he's real, but she runs over to help him anyway, trying to pull at the mask that he clearly wants off. Her blood runs cold when she sees the name carved on the inside of it.

Those sharing the villa with her may run into her in the small hours of the morning, trying to gently peel a wooden mask off a young man's face while he weeps.

She finds him by the side of the road in town, too, and though she can't be sure whether anyone else can see him, whether she'll look mad for interacting with him, she still tries to help, tries to pull the mask off.

There's always another mask underneath, and they all have the name Marcus carved inside of them.]

Who are you? How do you know that name? [She asks the questions every time, trying to be as gentle as possible, not accusing him of anything. He never answers.]


III. (Don't) Hold Your Breath

[Of course Caitlyn is going to explore a strange sunken House that holds a beacon. Of course the obvious signs of danger aren't going to deter her, and neither is the fact that she hasn't got any experience traversing decaying abandoned buildings.

Rifle case securely strapped to her back, she makes her way to the old place, and is skirting the outside, trying to find a good way in, when she spots someone else also making their way around the building.]

Are you going in too?


IV. Among Us

[Caitlyn hasn't the faintest clue why she's dragged in front of a strange woman in the market square, who gently runs her fingertips over the three faint scars above Caitlyn's brow. There's something in the woman's eyes as she does, and Caitlyn can't help but wonder if she recognizes something about their origin - she got those from another 'lady of the lake,' after all. Or perhaps it's merely... sympathy? Curiosity?

Caitlyn takes the woman's hand and quietly asks whether she's alright, only to receive an answer that isn't really an answer at all. Little girls weep, but women help themselves.

Not even an hour later she feels an itching on her palm.]

Our fat moon rises red?

[She reads the lines written on her palm aloud, without any care that she might be overheard, wondering what they could mean.]


V. Ill Met By Moonlight

[Caitlyn is awoken at midnight by crashes and shrieks.

It takes a moment for her to orient herself, but she tumbles out of bed, grabbing her rifle and running out into the street with barely a moment spared to put on a pair of boots. There's shouting, the sounds of fighting in the streets, and someone tells her to get inside, barricade the door, and stay silent.

Instead, she runs ahead.

The scene in the village is like something out of a nightmare. Tar-covered corpses rising from the water, dragging people down or tearing them apart. Caitlyn ducks into a nearby side street, pressing her back against the wall and clutching her rifle with white-knuckled hands.

She spots a shadow, someone - or something - moving, and raises her gun at whoever it is. When she speaks, she tries to sound stern and commanding, but there's an audible shake in her voice.]

Show yourself.


VI. Wildcard

[Hit me up with anything! Plotting comment is here if you'd like to plot.]

III

[makemeasong]

Don't tell the Doctor.

[ She gives Caitlyn a lopsided grin; she'd never actually put that on her, and Clara...rarely lies to the Doctor. Mostly by omission, because it's his future, but that's neither here nor there.

She's used to exploring things like this but with 96% less booby traps, as she'll find out. ]

I didn't know you were already over here, otherwise I would've offered to come with. I have my sword which I kind of know how to use now, and a rose with two petals on it. Just in case, but first, we have to find a way in. I haven't been this way yet.

[ Clara's sword is a pocketknife for now, tucked away in her back pocket. The roses are trimmed short, pressed, and on a makeshift necklace, hidden under her shirt. She's had to figure out a way to carry them from place to place, and this was easiest. ]

Lan Xichen | The Untamed | Tourist

[lanclan]

( arrival i. soup starter. )

At first he thinks he is dreaming, likely having a nightmare to take him away from the events at the temple, but no. The water is very real, as is his choking, and this place can't even be mistaken for a broken-down Lotus Pier because of all the strange mold and even stranger people. The only other thing that feels real and not like he is disassociating from murdering a close (albeit manipulative and sickening) companion is his grip on Shuoyue, trembling slightly.

When an old couple usher him to come sit with a band of similarly out of place folks, he makes no trouble and quietly sips the soup he is given. Although, if Nie Huaisang pops up and says he doesn't know what is going on, Xichen thinks he may not be responsible for his own actions.


( arrival ii. memory haze. )

For three days, Xichen's memories feel like fog. He can't remember how he ended up in water, in the middle of nowhere called Yancai, being conscripted by undead lords ...

Because he most certainly is not, is his first reaction when he hears that. He doesn't say it aloud, instead frowning as he listens intently with his head cocked in mildly polite (massive disrespectful, if you know how to read a Lan man) disbelief. When handed his new papers, he blinks slowly in exasperation at the title there: Lotus Picker.

Are there even any flowers around? The passport isn't even trying.


( arrival iii. asdfghjkl network. )

Offputting though the device is, he witnesses other people using it and decides he is going to figure out what to do with it too because frankly he is tired of Not Knowing things. Xichen sits on a stray bench and cycles through all the odd abilities the object boasts, finally starting to record.

Then it stops.

Records again, for longer this time, to show him arching a brow at the sight of himself on the little screen.

"Hello?"

He touches his own face to see the mirror-image comply like a reflection, as when he spoke, and gets promptly distracted by being asked for help by someone off-camera. The screen tilts and he can be heard saying "Of course, yes," in an obliging tone, though the video doesn't die for a good thirty seconds after that and just shows the floaty legs of his skirts wherever he is walking, banging off his thigh.


( ill met by moonlight iv. chopchop. )

The corpses fall like wheat before Shuoyue, though Xichen also attempts to play Clarity on Liebing purely to see how far he gets. Not very is the short answer, defaulting to cutting off their arms so they can't climb or swim back out of the water again once slammed back in.

It's almost cathartic to be so brutal after so long sitting idle, working out some of his own personal frustrations on the cursed dead.

1

[moonsounds]

It could be worse.

That's what Ruka tells herself in a mantra in her head, sitting motionless with the bowl resting on her knees as she watches everyone. Her expression isn't particularly harried--she's not upset or defensive. Just...watchful. Taking everything in.

When Xichen takes a seat next to her, she glances at him with open curiosity--everything from his hair (much, much longer than her own) to his robes are interesting and not at all familiar, even less so than things normally are for her. It reminds her vaguely, very vaguely, of a priest's robes.

Wordlessly she offers her bowl out to him as well, untouched from her.

Five Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy | Old Timer

[somebadnews]

[ Prompts below. Feel free to wildcard or ask for something different. If you want to plot out something specific ahead of time, feel free to make use of Five's plotting comment or hit me up on my usual channels. Happy to match action or prose as you like. ]

The Drifting

[somebadnews]

[ There was a time when Five thought only his family was capable of scattering away from him the very second they see an opportunity This group never was a team, but it's still aggravating how easily they lose track of what's important and get distracted by their own little issues. (Allison keeps up the sibling tradition by disappearing in the haze before they can so much as make a plan of where to meet up.) At least he could keep track of where they were on the train. Now everything is confused, and as alarmed as he rightly should be, he can't shake the feeling that this is where they were meant to be.

Or maybe he's just been traveling too long.

It became clear soon after that faces he knows aren't remembering themselves, confirmed by Karsa's warning not to tell them who they are. Thankfully, aside from his preexisting memory problems, he isn't among them, but that doesn't make him any more willing to sit back and let 'sorcery run its course'. Like Hell. The assignment he's given is ridiculous, and probably purposefully mocking, but it does give him an excuse to go door-to-door in search of any retained sanity.

Even if it means peddling some fish god that he knows nothing about and spends no time researching. He's not even sure he can pronounce the name right, but whatever gets his foot in the door. (A cult is a cult, right? He's seen enough to get the gist, and if his brother can do it, how hard can it be?) He knocks at each entrance and impatiently waits, barely resisting the urge to blink inside before someone finally comes out. ]

Hi there. [ He watches them with a briefly scrutinizing gaze and smiles too wide to be at all convincing of what he's about to say. ] Have you welcomed Kathoo'lul into your life?

Ruka Minazuki | Fatal Frame 4 | tourist

[moonsounds]

A. Lost At Sea

She drifts. She drifts and she dreams and she lays on the sand not waking for what feels like eternity.

When she finally awakens, she just follows along with a sense of having missed something. It's a terribly familiar feeling, honestly, and she's not sure what to do with it, except to follow along with the villagers who help her.

She says nothing the entire time, quiet and watchful, almost unnervingly so. The first words she utters are a quiet, "thank you," when she accepts food, though she only sits with it in her lap. She feels hungry, but only vaguely. It's not enough to make her actually feel like eating.

The explanations wash over her and, while she's sure she's not dreaming, she's not sure how much of 'reality' this is either. It's disorienting.

"A traveling musician and a singer... I suppose it's not terrible. It's not far off." She mutters aloud as she looks at the passport before she puts it away, staring straight ahead. "This could all be worse."

It's said matter-of-factly, like perhaps if she says it out loud it will make it more true.

B. They Sleep

Nothing good comes from empty caskets like that. Ruka lingers with a frown, watching the burial boats with a growing sense of unease. That can't be all there is to it, is there? She supposes she can't say anything against their burial beliefs though. Better than whatever her island home had going on.

But as she lingers, she feels that odd, uneasy feeling tugging at her very soul, drawing her closer to the water's edge. She doesn't look in, very deliberately avoiding it so as not to see her warped face in her reflection. Moonlight Syndrome meant failing to recognize oneself in a reflection, and she didn't want to aggravate it.

That doesn't mean she's safe though.

She sways, her eyelids feeling heavy and her vision tunneling to a pinpoint before she begins to collapse, likely headed right for a collision with the water unless someone grabs her.

C. Ill Met by Moonlight

She hates the moon.

The full moon brings a familiar frenzying feeling, a desperate need to be up high, high, high and close to it. It's not a strong urge--her Moonlight Syndrome hasn't advanced at all--but the pull is there. It makes her breath catch and a feeling of primal fear well up in her at the eclipse. It's wrong.

As if driven by instinct she goes to wherever a piano might be set up--an inn or tavern for the locals? Someone's house she breaks into? Who knows, there's a piano SOMEWHERE and Ruka has found it. She plays, calm and gentle at first, and then growing increasingly desperate as her mind fails to remember the entire thing. It loops and lingers, haunting, but beautiful.

It works on some corpses, but maybe not others. Some still try to get in where she is, while Ruka plays on and on until her fingers ache, until they crack and bleed and still she plays.

Those with memory issues might find themselves starting to remember bits and pieces of things they wouldn't normally when the music plays. Even those without memory problems might find themselves resonating with the music, conjuring up some kind of memory and feeling.

But the music doesn't work on all of the corpses and they'll quickly overrun her if someone doesn't help out sooo you know. Get on that please chopchop.

D. Wildcard

The 'Everything Else' option!

they sleep

[a_silent_due]

( Grip gnarly, like hooking fish and drawing the load in — he's seen crook-backed louts do the work like ants here, milling across the harbour lines, gaze dull like black ice. Looks simple, and she's a slim, slip of a nothing, is girlie — just wilting down, and Kanda, well.

He's a gentleman after every thug's swooning heart. Kindly — )

Go drown where no one's got to smell your corpse after. ( A tell-tale, petulant sniff, as if she's rot-touched already, and not the wealth of dubiously fresh fish enthusiastically peddled by nearby merchants. Like hell you let your Finder waste good coin on this swill and spillage.

There's talk of corpses, and they're absent. Talk of beacons, and no platform to be found. Talk of reliable, sturdy companions — and he's stuck giving ol' daffodil's arm a parting wrench. )

Can't put one foot in front of the other?

aloy / horizon / tourist

[datapoint]

[ I'm equally chill with brackets or prose, hit me up with whatever! u can also tag me w/something completely different if none of these strike your fancy. ]

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

At least the ecosystem is the same, Aloy thinks grimly. All of this is very hard to swallow, from the 'undead lords' to the 'time travel' business, but she feels grounded by the similarities to the Burning Shores: the humidity; the smell of the sea; the decaying, half-sunk buildings. Picking her way through decaying infrastructure isn't anything new either, but wading through stagnant water still is not something she really enjoys.

"I almost miss the megalomaniacal immortals," she starts to say to no one in particular, when she suddenly goes still and quiet, tilting her head as if to listen. It's abrupt, so if someone is not looking where they're going, they might just walk into her—or at least find her obliviously in the way.

THEY SLEEP

Aloy is deeply uncomfortable feigning grief around real people mourning real deaths, so she just observes weirdly from a distance, which does not at all make everyone else uncomfortable. It's only when the whispers starts to drift over—empty funerary boats and scratch marks on the lids—that she muscles her way into the throng, touching the silver triangle at her temple.

"No body," she mutters to herself, her eyes darting along the vacant cavity like she's reading some invisible clues. "But that's only possible if..."

Ignoring the wave of displeasure from the mourners, she pushes through to study the next boat. And the next. Dread swells across her features.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

Aloy has fought and killed countless machines and countless men, but these things are not either. These things defy logic, and her brain is struggling to find an explanation even as she sends a fire arrow streaking across the sky to land between one of the treacly, black figures and a fleeing victim.

"Move!" she shouts, nocking another arrow as she leaps to an outcropping, and then across to a boat. It takes her a second to get her footing in the rolling waters, but she recovers quickly and scans for the next person she can help.

they sleep | keep doing your prose, buddy, I'm just weird about #Looks

[downswing]

( He is a trickled silhouette, a smear of white mourning — barely a bruise against a pale, watery horizon. Unobtrusive, for how grievers permit him among them, and is it a lie, then, to omit his purpose? Men conjure their truths and live their appearances. If Lan Wangji must make mantle of a sixteen-year-long wound and flaunt his inertia, the tight rope of his bitter mouth, so be it.

At least, they allow him near the piers, knelt like a courtesan paying obeisance, while spittle of spumes rises and spreads when fresh-current waves batter the pier posts. Beside him, sailors cleave open a ship's carcass, wood groaning, then split — to unveil the absence of cadavers, only the stench of staleness, air trapped months-long. The pulse of Lan Wangji's temple quickens to storm; he has done well to find the lone ship neglected, perhaps through the spite of a grudging family, or their reckless abandon.

Beneath his fingertips, the wood's lacquer has withered from unctuous to stark, beady granules. Careful, so very careful and kindly, he sweeps the ship's lid down with a worn thud — nearly striking the feet of the woman that eases beside him, come close. Another of the infamous fresh arrivals. He should make apologies — stays his gaze like a long winter over the emptied boat, instead. No shroud in the ship's petty hull, none of the moistures that accompany flesh deteriorating. Not even the dust of bones. )

Flesh was retrieved or never placed therein.

( Late, when he finishes her speculation. Rasped. Perhaps this is the trick of it, the sleight of hand: they assume these are the same boats that made their death journey. They could yet be welcoming duplicates on return. )

Daenerys Targaryen | A Song of Ice and Fire

[song_of_fire]

Don't Hold Your Breath

It must be a house long abandoned. The smell of mold is overwhelming as Dany descends the steps. It's obvious something wriggles in the water. Given she wears straw saddles, Dany is careful where she steps. It was a bit too easy to get in, from the rumors she was told about the musicians.

There had to be traps. Places of magic always seem to have traps.

The sound of someone else makes her jump as she reaches the basement. Whirling around, Dany touches the sword on her belt, only giving a sigh when she recognizes the face of a fellow traveler. "You gave me a start."

Among Us

Witch. The very idea of such a presence made Dany's skin crawl. Miang-si isn't like Mirri Maz Duur, apparently younger and more beautiful. Her eyes though are just as Piercing, just as knowing. It's enough to bring back unpleasant memories.

When she came to her shared house, there's a moment the woman comes close, sniffing at the Dragon Queen. It seems as if they whisper to each other Miang-si grabs her arm, leaning close to Dany's ear, and then all at once, it's over.

Back inside, Dany sits uncomfortably, watching for the ghost. Her hand feels strange. When the writing appears, she's quick to try and rub the words off her skin.

"A warning?"

Ill Met By Moonlight

Barricading the door seemed the best option. The warnings are enough for Dany to take seriously. If the dead were coming, she'd protect the house and anyone inside. Her sword is by her side and Drogon nesting close outside.

Black mold creep on the walls like errant ivy. Water gathers in the corner, inching closer to Dany's bare feet. Do not touch. The dead were a presence, even inside a barricaded home.

"Watch where you step. Stay close."

among us

[weifinder]

Wei Wuxian leans over, brows quirked, eyes flicking to her hand.

"What did it say?" That magic is as meticulously present here is unsurprising; that the village is cursed felt foregone as a conclusion long before they arrived. What place have they been that has not been cursed, visibly or otherwise? The young woman taken away to the next threshold, no more or less aware of herself and nothing like contrite, has his attention for a beat more, then it comes firmly to rest on Dany alone.

Wrathion | Warcraft | Existing Player

[blackscales]

[ Prompts posting up slowly below, or PM me or go here to plot something else!

Prose or brackets fine starters in prose! ]

i. House of Toads: A

[blackscales]

A windowless house is bad enough. Wrathion unpacks into it, his motley collection of possessions now increased to include a small number of things swiped from the first class carriage of The Sandman, and supposes if he thinks of it as a cave he can excuse it. He's fond of caves, his natural affinity for the earth making them comfortable to him even when... lacking decor.

This, however, is....

An unusual choice. Windows are something mortals usually enjoy, no? To take in the view of their surroundings? Enjoy sunlight? Perhaps something to do with the dilapidated state of the village. Perhaps the lack of windows keeps the weather out.

It certainly isn't keeping toads out, but we aren't talking about that or the shadows under his eyes that seemingly darken a little with every passing day.

Well, they're staying here regardless of course. It feels the right choice, he thinks.

He stands on the threshold of the windowless house, watching the parents of a useless young man retreat back to their home, then glances down at the neat gift basket in his hands. It contains a large quantity of smoked fish. A bribe in the hopes the matchmaker will bless their child with a good partner.

"Well," he says, flicking his eyes up and around to someone he senses watching. "I don't suppose you're hungry?"

adrienne peters ★ original ★ old timer

[pathologise]

top levels below. plotting comment is here with haunting here! general cw for alcohol abuse, trauma, nightmares, etc

★ early days [ memory loss ]

[pathologise]

( it's easy to find adrienne at the docks, keeping her aid station stocked and staffed, making sure she was in a good position to be accessed if things did go wrong. or just a friendly face for any dock workers to talk to pass the time during the day. which meant that adrienne can often be found with clean water, sometimes a snack, and always a smile on her )

It looks like it'll be a good day today.

( good weather, easy catches. though adrienne would always give hopeful messages to dock workers for their day )

Claire Fraser | Outlander | Old Timer

[beautifullies]

[ Top levels to follow in a slow trickle b/c work. CW for death of a child, top level will be marked. If nothing quite fits, I'm always down to work out a custom starter. My plotting comment is here and her role/assignment/haunting is here. Feel free to PM or ping me on disco @ lifewasawillow#5524 ]

DAYS 1-3

[beautifullies]

𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼

[ Claire—Widow Fraser—has been at the mercy of the fertility of Yancai for what feels like weeks. Her lower back hurts, her feet, but with each successful delivery, all of that fades away in a rush. She's been the midwife here for as long as she can remember, but never have there been so many full-term women at once.

She's just left two new proud but exhausted parents and is dreaming of a bath when she's approached by a young man who looks like he might fall over...and she's off again.

It's obvious as soon as she's finished with her exam there's an issue. She needs to try fixing it, this breeched baby, but she needs help because she can't knock the woman out or give her drugs that might harm the child. Claire looks at her young apprentice and tells her to flag down the first decently strong person they come across who isn't the father. To tell them that the midwife needs help and to come along if they have a strong constitution.

Once that person steps in the door, Claire pokes her head out of the room and gestures. ]

I need you to hold her down very tightly by the shoulders. If you pass out, we'll have a very serious problem. Understood?

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼𝐼 - 𝐴𝑝𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑦
[ Before she can drag herself home she has to replenish her medicine box, and Claire makes her way to the apothecary a good half hour before closing. After a brief chat with the proprietor, she seems to know exactly where she's going and what she needs. But as she passes someone browsing she has to double back when they pick up a jar containing a dark, opaque liquid. ]

Pardon me, I don't mean to interrupt. I only wondered what you might be doing with horse urine.

[ It's difficult for her not to laugh, wondering if they even knew what they were holding. This isn't a store that cares much for labels the deeper into the depths one goes. ]

𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜
𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠

[ When Claire wakes, it's a full ten seconds before she loses her memories again, and she can hardly drag herself out of bed. There's a hollow feeling in her gut followed by surprise; it seems late in the morning and no one's knocked on her door or contacted her over her device to alert her of a person in labor.

It's why she's still in a robe when she makes her way to the kitchen. The expected knock comes and she detours to answer after a quick wave in the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet, Claire's voice raises and by the time she's finished, she's shouting. ]

Perhaps you didn't hear the first time: get the fuck off of my doorstep before I call someone who can relocate you.

[ Before whoever it is can reply, she's slamming the door in disgust and locking it, then tromps off to the kitchen. ]

This hasn't been a brothel in years, and quite frankly, I'm getting sick and fucking tired of this.

[ She's not a morning person. Or as it turns out, a 'just awake' person, but she's always been this way, nothing new. Someone usually hands over a cup of coffee and suddenly all's well in Claire's world again. ]

𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼 - 𝐹𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 (𝐶𝑊: 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑)

[ The day has been a somber one, though it doesn't mean babies don't need to come into the world. It only means that she knows this isn't her world now. She isn't a widow, and she has no one here, no one who knows her, not really. The comradery she felt was a lie.

It's late, hours after supper when she's woken from a restless sleep by the sound of a baby crying. Not so unusual given the boom, but this seems to be coming from inside the house. It's been a long time since that noise woke Claire, and she rubs her face, sitting up.

The crying gets louder when she opens her door and steps into the hall at the same time someone else does. Offering a quizzical look, she leads the way in her nightgown and then stops abruptly. There's a baby on the floor of the living room, wailing her head off, the swaddle around her having fallen away. She's moonlight pale, and that makes the red wisps of hair on her head seem to stand out.

Color draining from Claire's face, she takes a step forward, and then another, hurrying, and soon she has the baby cradled carefully in her arms. ]

Faith.

[ She breathes out the name not in question, but in knowing, then looks up helplessly at her flatmate, unsure what to do or how to do it. ]

the doctor (12) | doctor who | tourist

[twelfthsong]

[ Top levels below. Happy to write prose or brackets - I'll follow your lead. Feel free to toss me a wildcard as well! ]

— lost at sea

[twelfthsong]

[ When the Doctor had asked the TARDIS where the swimming pool had gone, getting violently thrown out of her into the time vortex and surfacing (spluttering is more like it) in an actual sea, isn’t quite the punchline he had been expecting.

Later on when he comes to and most of the briny sea has been expunged from his lungs, he might find some humour in it before realising that this is decidedly not a joke. And even though the circumstances of his kidnapping are angry eyebrow inducing, and it’s concerning that he can’t find the TARDIS, his sonic screwdriver is no longer sonic, and that when he unfurls his psychic paper, he finds the equivalent of a sandbox between its pages that will probably take several millennia to be rid of, there’s a hum of energy about him at the mention of the beacon shifting. Shifting can only denote time, and is he really a Time Lord if he isn’t intrigued at the possibility of a time based mystery? It's as if a million piece puzzle has been dumped in front of him and he’s delighted that he can’t leave until it’s solved.

He has no intention of being used in a war. But he fully intends on sticking around long enough to understand what picture these pieces make.

…Or rather he would, were it not for the buckets on buckets of oysters he’s suddenly found himself surrounded with along with his absurd new job title. He’s muttering rather loudly to himself at the end of one of the piers, furiously shucking oysters. Their shells mostly miss the empty bucket, littering the pier and occasionally flying and pegging one of the fishermen below. Don’t get too close; you might get pegged in the head with a shell too. ]

Shucker? These undead lords are certainly using a Time Lord to the best of their abilities, aren’t they? No one even needs this many oysters. Certainly not undead lords.

wanda maximoff | mcu | old timer

[westviews]

[Feel free to hit up my plotting comment if you want something in particular, otherwise prompts are open! Role details here.]

the drifting

[westviews]

[In the earliest days, Wanda moves around as if she's always been here, because to her recollection, this is where she was born and raised. She offers brief smiles to those that pass her, maybe the occasional tilt of her head if something seems different, but she seems mostly content to meander about on days when she's not needed to mind children. Vaguely spooky lighthouse? Home sweet home, and she's only mildly suspicious of people coming to check it out.

Everything is fine until the headaches come. Little bursts of pain, here and there. Easily written off. A growing sense of things amiss. It's not until a handful of days in that her vision grays out with the throbbing of her temples, and she nearly falls with the sudden wave of pain.]

Sorry. [She's making a scene or being grabbed by someone meaning to help or accidentally grabbing someone herself--] I'm okay.

Anthony Lockwood | Lockwood and Co | Tourist

[recklessenough]

[ Starters incoming! If you'd like to hit me with a wildcard feel free to toss it my way or if you want to plot something hit me up in DM or at laekhund! ]

Lost at Sea

[recklessenough]

[ ’I get a brain ache writing a shopping list.’

Though his memories felt as if seen through frosted glass, the words -spoken in his posh tones- echoed in his skull as he studied the shipping manifest on the clipboard in front of him. The XO of the merchant ship, which was still busy docking, stood a tad impatiently off to the side, exhaling deep and pointed sighs as she waited for Lockwood to finish reviewing the paperwork that had been presented to him.

It was a simple enough task, really, he just needed to compare the paperwork the XO had handed him, to the paperwork he’d been given that morning as he’d reported to work on the docks. It was his cover, for the foreseeable future, that of dock master, which had sounded a lot more glamourous when he’d first read about it.

Now, as he studied two sets of documents made out in a language, he could not make heads or tails of, Lockwood was feeling less sanguine about his temporary job. Time to fake it.

Smiling, beatifically, towards the unimpressed XO, Lockwood made apologetic noises and gracefully detached himself from the end of the plank that connected the ship to the dock. Crossing purposefully back towards the dock masters shack, he ducked inside and grabbed someone who he suspected was not native. ]

Excuse me, quick question. [ Smiling winsomely, he held out the clipboard. ] Any chance you can read what’s on these papers?

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad | Old Timer | OTA

[yeahmagnets]

[ ooc; anyone is welcome to reply to any of the below prompts. i've written them out in prose, however i'll match action brackets if you prefer those! here is a link to jesse's post on the plotting meme to give you an overview of what he's up to upon arrival/some ideas i have for interactions. you can also PM this journal or hit me up on plurk rizzoto or discord (itsmepinkman#5836) for brainstorming purposes/questions/etc. also feel free to hit me up if you'd like a custom starter prompt, which i can add into commments. there will also be a wildcard prompt at the end wherein you can post a starter of your choice :) ]

THE DRIFTING

Jesse's memories are, thankfully, intact when he arrives at Yancai. He's been through enough where he doesn't need lost memories and the subsequent migraines and side effects plaguing him.

He's given an assignment--a role to play here, in this soggy, half-flooded, seaside village. It's to sell candles, which he first scoffs at. He's given a supply of plain, sea-salt scented candles, but also given raw materials and a small set-up to make more. He's given a lot of extra candle-making supplies as well, to pawn off to others who wish to follow in his footsteps. It's an obvious pyramid-scheme type business, which he's familiar with back in his homeworld, so Jesse sets out to figure out how he can rapidly expand this business. What better way to get to know people around this town and to discover whatever mysteries lie unsolved?

There are a few people in mind who he has heard talk of, but he'll meet up with those later--one: a money-lender who he'll certainly need to visit. Two: a door-to-door style missionary, recruiting followers to praise some kind of fish-god. Of course he'll be searching for those he'd met on The Sandman, as well--America, Buck, Clara, Nacho, Jimmy, Kim...he'll be on the lookout for any familiar faces from back home or otherwise.

For now, he'll settle into his humble abode--some flooded, half-sunken place. But, ascending to the rooms above, he discovers it's actually a rather nice dwelling. There's a sense of peace and calm when he walks in. Supposedly, it's a place where people come to be forgiven for their sins--to be set on the right path. Jesse scoffs at that a little, when it's revealed to him. It doesn't seem right that a person like him, with more sins than most under his belt, should be giving anyone advice on how to forge a righteous path.

Once settled, and armed with his first batch of candles, he'll start off with a simple door-to-door sales tactic. He walks until he finds the nearest dwelling, stepping up to knock firmly on the door. Once it's opened, he'll put on the most charming smile he can muster.

"Can I interest you in purchasing some candles? Looks light you might need some extra light in there, am I right?"

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH (Closed to Ignacio Varga unless otherwise specified)

After reuniting with some familiar faces from The Sandman, Jesse's managed to secure a decent loan with which he aims to get some decent clothing and maybe a little extra--something to make him seem like the sucessful business owner he wants to come off as. A gold chain or two, perhaps? Or a gawdy ring? He'll figure it out. In the meantime, he's been tasked with checking on this 'beacon', whatever that's supposed to be and, now that he's secured a rowboat to get to the building it's housed in, he returns to Nacho with the news.

"Hey, man. Got us a boat. The guy's letting me borrow it for, like, next to nothing. You ready to check this place out?"

THEY SLEEP

Crashing funerals doesn't exactly seem like the right thing to do, but Jesse can't help being curious about the customs this village has surrounding the deaths of loved ones. He lingers on the outskirts of the crowd, but shuffles closer when he notices what appear to be scratches on the inside of one of the tomb lids. Had its inhabitant still been alive when sent off to sea? He wonders that, along with why so many people are dying in this town. It seems like an off-balance number for a community this small.

While stepping closer, parting the small crowd to get a better look, he feels his vision start to grow hazy, a high-pitched ringing filling his ears and drowning out the ambient sounds around him. Suddenly, there's an unstoppable urge to submerge himself in the water and, while somewhere in the back of his mind he knows its a bad idea, it's as though he can only watch himself take one step and then another, down the beach and into the surf. He's at chest-height in the water now, and not stopping. Someone should probably pull him out before he sinks into the ocean entirely and gets swept away...

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT (Closed to Jimmy McGill unless otherwise specified)

Even with Nacho paying off his initial loan debt, Jesse's been struggling to get his candle business off the ground. Much like business at home went, it feels like he's taking one step forward and two steps back. It doesn't help that he felt bad and gave away candles to some folks who promised to pay later (and who unsuprisingly never did). This feels different than being a drug dealer. Back then, it was easier to ward off feelings of guilt or empathy when it was someone trying to get their next fix off of you. This is different. It feels wrong to deny light, warmth, or a sense or protection from those who can't afford his wares. It's just not the same.

Unluckily for the village, it begins to be overrun by tar-coated corpses during the night, and it's quickly discovered that light and fire keep the undead at bay. Well, he'd been inadvertently taught by Saul Goodman that sometimes tragedy opens up an entirely new avenue for business opportunities. He'd thought it disgusting back then, when Goodman profited off of the victims of the Wayfarer accident and their families. But now? It doesn't seem like such a bad idea to start pushing harder in the promotion of his candle business, considering they do a decent job at keeping the corpses away. The idea works. It takes off so well, actually, that he has no choice but to hire on candle-makers and salespeople because the demand grows far higher than what he can take on by himself. THat's when the real profits start rolling in and he suddenly finds he can pay off all of the incurred interests and then some on that loan he'd taken from Jimmy McGill when they'd first arrived at Yancai.

A smug look on his face, he steps up to Jimmy's place of residence on the island, knocking heavily.

"Open up, Goodman! I mean, Jimmy! It's important!"

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to make up your own starter if any of the above prompts don't quite fit. Hit me up for plotting if you'd like to hash out an idea first. Again, you can check my plotting post or my recent plurks if you'd like to get a general idea of what Jesse's up to in Yancai. Everyone's welcome--I'd love to write with any and all of you! :) ]

THEY SLEEP

[beautifullies]

The lack of bodies, to say the very least, is concerning. The Claire who believed she's lived in Yancai feels a sense of despair and dread. Now, the dread is still there, but the despair has been replaced by concern for all of them. When and were will the dead return? And will they still be dead?

Her eyes scan the horizon when she sees someone at the edge of the water. At first, she isn't sure what he's doing, but then he begins wading into the water fully clothed and she takes off, shouting.

"No!"

Something is obviously wrong, but no one moves to help her and her shout gets no reaction from the villagers. She can't think about it being odd (though she will later), and runs right into the water. God knows it's been two decades, but she's still strong and her years of being a field medic, needing to carry men twice her size sometimes, will come in handy. Of course, those men usually weren't water-logged.

Grabbing the young man by the collar in what can only be called a 'mom hold,' Claire speaks loudly in his ear to be heard over the surf.

"Come on, out of the water! Can you hear me?" She begins dragging him, hoping his brain will kick in and he'll walk.

vanessa ives | penny dreadful | old timer

[matermali]

Work, Teahouse or Tavern } days 1-5 (open)

[ The work of both seamstress and laundress is mostly solitary by choice, with Vanessa able to carry on silently for hours, but every act taken to repair or wash away the mistakes of the denizens keeps her in constant connection with the village. Stains and tears, no matter how bloody or mangled, are rectified as if by magic, and never a word of judgment from Vanessa in turn. Their secrets are safe. For those deserving of it–whether the most destitute or reviled–she’ll even smile and kindly tease when engaged in trade for her services. It isn’t only coin that she accepts; Vanessa keeps an open mind.

That’s just how it’s been for as long as she’s lived here, which has been…always. Yancai is home. That sense of belonging does wonders for her spirits most days, but even here something tries to pull Vanessa between two worlds.

By day (when not working), she might engage herself with writing in a journal in the corner of the teahouse, quietly people-watching when she isn’t taking notes. Very few pass through unnoticed by her. If she's staring, it's likely a reason even she isn't aware of.

By night, if she's at the tavern, she can hold her own with the sailors; drinks and intrigue are invited into the shadows with whomever she singles out (could it be you?).

That is, until she feels a sense of foreboding that…seems almost familiar, and then there’s an axe trying to split her skull in two. At least, that’s the feel of it. The sudden pain of her migraine sends her forward with a cry, hands flying to cover her eyes as her drink clatters to the ground completely forgotten. ]

Along a Pier } recovered memories (open)

[ Even with her memories seemingly in order, Vanessa isn’t much more knowledgeable about a certain item in her possession, and she’s determined to learn more about it now that she’s regained her spell knowledge. It has nothing to do with the larger mystery here, but it's the occasional distraction she needs. With so many belongings left behind in Alem, however, Vanessa has been attempting to replenish certain ingredients, and it’s outside her second apothecary in a row now that she decides to take a break and sit on a pier more isolated than the rest.

Some of the herbs stink, but then so does the rest of the village, so she has no concern as her purchases are stuffed into her shoulder bag. Inside the bag, her fingertips tap the corner of a small box that weighs more than it ought to thanks to the metal lining the edges. Still, she can feel the heart that beats within, just as surely as she can feel the call of the sea.

For now, she’ll reluctantly leave the box and her purchases within the bag, instead pulling out a thin cigarette to light, followed by a meager sandwich with bread that’s...a bit smashed. It isn’t much, but if she happens to spot someone she recognizes as a fellow ‘traveler’, Vanessa will split it and offer the other half. ]

Hungry?

They Sleep } one can brood and eavesdrop (open)

[ Though she may be of no mood or care to seek a beacon, Vanessa will always be drawn to the dead and their cause in some form or another. She hardly needs to act to look as if she might be mourning, with grief always behind her pale eyes.

Entrenched in her own concerns over identity, how can she not wonder at the identities of the Ladies of the Lake that are so whispered about? If they choose some burial boats, what is their reason? Somehow, she must learn if they are Nightcomers or Daywalkers. History in London would lead her to assume the former, but experience elsewhere has taught her that not all witches are to be condemned. If anything, she ought to be wary that a finger isn’t pointed at her in any future witch hunts. Once was enough; she needs no more brands upon her back.

Vanessa is careful who she speaks to, more often than not lurking just near enough to overhear any gossip shared from others who might try investigating. If that means she’s lingering a bit too close and eavesdropping on you, then have a half-hearted grimace of apology should she be caught. She isn’t at her best. ]

Wildcard! } set or request a scene

[ ooc; Further prompts below. Feel free to message me anywhere if you want to plot something before or after she recovers her memories. Here is Vanessa's role and dwelling, although after giving it further thought with recent character arcs, I've tweaked her haunting quite a bit (please forgive me, lovely mod!). ]

cave-mates }

[matermali]

Days 1-5 } cw: blood, scorpion imagery

[ Before secreting away to do her work for the village, Vanessa is sociable enough to others who reside in the cave with her. If there ever happens to be dessert leftover from the night before, she will be first to take it for breakfast. That, and perhaps she’ll dust a teasing farewell kiss towards the hand of whoever she passes first. If Vanessa ever has nightmares, they are well forgotten by morning.

And she does have nightmares, but when she awakens from them late at night she has no memory of them. She only knows that she has to act; she has to defend herself. With memories that can’t be her own, any others in the vicinity might find Vanessa crouched in the middle of the night near the cave’s entrance with a bloodied hand frantically drawing out the beginnings of what will become a sigil of a large scorpion.

If approached, she’ll glance aside but won’t stop. ]

It’s so they can’t find me.

Recovered Memories } aw it's just more drama

[ Since recovering her memories, Vanessa has fewer laughs and flirtations for her cave-mates, instead leaving early and returning late, with little to say for herself and no desire to explain. Occasionally, a plate of sweet treats will be left in a communal space for the others, though she’ll be cautious to do so when they aren’t around to bother her with gratitude. Let the desserts be a 'mystery'.

When the hour strikes late, she awakens from lack of air, choking on a rancid smoke that rises from her pillow. A black cloud billows forth from Vanessa when she lurches and coughs out the poisonous air, then whips around to toss her pillow aside. Underneath it is her tarot set, with one card in particular consumed by the black mass.

The whole set of cards is tossed to the cave floor, and Vanessa is quick to try and smother it with her blankets. She swears for a moment she sees a man in the distance, obscured by the smoke, but he’s gone by the time it subsides. After, Vanessa pulls the blanket aside to find the cards seemingly in fine condition except for the problem card at the center. The back is blank except for a message scrawled in familiar writing: Further still? Will you take us with you?

Compelled to pick up the single card, she crouches and flips it to find a Ten of Swords in her palm. Dread fills her, and Vanessa looks again to where the strange figure once stood. He’s gone, and she knows this won't be the only time this curse finds her. She doesn't need her magic to know. Curses are constant.

There are others here who seem to be burdened with their own curses, and so she tries to stay silent on hers now that she has her wits back about her. ...So to speak. How is one supposed to stay silent after making such a scene? Had others seen the smoke? ]

Wildcard! } set or request a scene

Wei Wuxian | The Untamed | Ye Olde Timer

[weifinder]

( ooc: top level comments will follow below! tag me with prose or in action, i'll match what style you choose. wildcard me for any other scenario, both myself and wei wuxian are flexible!

note that the first five days in village he thinks he's been here a long time, and he only knows this feels incorrect from midnight to five, so if you want him lucid hit him up late at night, otherwise just point and laugh at your local merry minstrel! who lives in a holy cave. with unholy hours, in his opinion. )

the drifting

[weifinder]

i start spinning, slipping out of time

He's been here for years, in this village facing a slow slide into the waters, grasping and deadly, deadened and lively. There are nights he sings the moons into craven reflection of a time long gone, a time returned again, the long notes haunting across the waters after nightfall. The odd melancholy of some forgotten need, sliding out of reach whenever he finds it starting to speak in the back of his mind, shier than his husband in their collective youth, leaves him subtly on edge.

During the day, he's found chatting with villagers, playing melodic pieces as he's rowed between islets and sections of housing, a laugh that carries light with it, or the wink and the casual kindness of his regard before he pulls out his flute and plays yet another song, or a note, or a collection for the people he meets and speaks with. The most lively moments come in the early afternoons, when he finds the tea house, and the songs he plays then are ones familiar to the locals, his village fellows, who all sing along with heart if not with high skill.

He can be found after these performances, seated at a small table with a jar of wine or what passes for it, pouring for himself and for the person he spies approaching, as long as they're not his husband.

"I find when the weight of the world has your head speaking too loud, a good dose of alcohol helps quiet things down." He smiles, cup offered to his companion. "Care to give it a try?"

we raise it up, this offering

He's playing for the children in their game of spinning and chasing when they've finished with their morning's net mendings, when the midday meal is not quite ready, and they've spare moments to be children alone, giggles and shrill screeches and quiet shyness in unequal measures. He's keeping them entertained and collected enough their parents have a moment to catch up with odd ends of meal preparations or boats tying off with the tide ill suited for a sail, the day not dawned for good fishing, only paltry portions.

His rabbits are here, nestled in large woven baskets, with a few of the children braiding clumsy crowns for their furry heads. The rabbits enjoy the treats, golden brown coats looking half dust themselves (meat creatures, once, but treasured pets now, for reasons he both knows and yet feels he knows not enough about if he thinks too hard, to headaches and a rising sickening of his stomach) they delight in nibbling on from each other's crown, and the children laugh and pile more of the pilfered weeds and edible flowers inside, delighted by the antics.

They're called in for their meals, and Wei Wuxian spins his flute between his fingers before gesturing to one, then another, hurrying on their ways to their parents, their guardians. His flute finds home in his waistband, and he kneels to collect the large basket and the rabbits, only to have one go hopping out and nonchalantly head away from him, toward a face he knows — doesn't he?

"Stop that rabbit!" He calls out, a flash of a smile and crinkling eyes to make his amusement all the more obvious. "Before it sneaks into some poor soul's garden and throws everything into chaos. Don't doubt it will! You can see its intent in its mischievous eyes!"

He is, meanwhile, struggling to keep the other rabbit from attempting an ill advised leap out of the basket he's now holding at hip level.

Xie Lian | Old Timer

[scrapgege]

[I. THE DRIFING]

[There is a slightly run down building, which you could honestly wonder how it still stands when it feels like a strong gust of wind or a strong wave might topple it. And not far from it there's a small shack that looks even more precarious, with the smell of food wafting from it.

It does have customers coming and going, but the ones going often have a strange look on their faces. Some are sweating, others are running as fas as they can to go empty their bowels through whichever orifice is the most convenient, and a few look completely dazed.

There's a few unconscious people in the bushes too, don't mind them.

Still, it's not like there are a thousand food options in this town, so people keep coming, even though word starts spreading.

If you approach the shack, you will be greeted by a smiling Xie Lian presiding ove a bubbling pot.]

Hello! Would you like some fish stew?


[II. The HAUNTING - For the Dancing Seagull people]

[The first time the Red Lady approaches, Xie Lian is unsuspecting and doesn't register her until the mask is suddenly pressed against his face and he wakes up with a start.

He doesn't need to see to know exactly what is on the mask. A white face, half of it smiling and half of it crying.

He tries to struggle, but the phantom is surprisingly strong and then she says in a weirdly sweet voice...]

'This is you. This is the real you. You need to put on your skin.'

[All of Xie Lian's blood runs cold and he struggles harder, in vain. When she suddenly disappears, he's left gasping and huddles on the bed, not even realizing he's clutching his bamboo hat with tears running down his face.]

... No. This is not me. I chose not to be this.


[III. THEY SLEEP]

[The 'burying' rituals don't feel completely alien to Xie Lian. He's lived long enough to know some sort of things like these is customary in a lot of coastine or island cultures.

But the opening of the burial boats is still chilling. Once again...]

This feels wrong.

[Xie Lian is trying to articulate what the problem is, but it's difficult to find words...]

There's no decaying bodies, and no sign the boxes were opened from the outside by animals to feed... and there's no remaining energy like a soul lingering, or what you'd expect when someone has been paying respect to the dead.... something's wrong. Again.

[It seems they can't escape the weird flows of time, as Karsa mentioned, but...]

This place keeps moving in time, right? I assume some people probably end up undead because of it, but also... what if some people just revert to an earlier, 'alive' stage? While trapped in those boxes? What then?

[lanclan]

[ From the state of the people fleeing the establishment (if it can be called that) he isn't inclined to have anything to eat, but he is interested in who is poisoning people. The face that greets him looks too sweet to be deceiving, but then again Xichen has learned his lesson where pretty people are concerned.

He ducks his head slightly to enter, standing tall and straight with an arm behind his back and Shuoyue held at his side, surveying the little ... restaurant. Holding up a hand in a polite decline, he eyes the lone perpetrator and addresses him in the lightest conversational tone he can manage, not wanting to assume nefarious intentions. ]

Young Master, are you aware the unconscious bodies of your patrons lie in the bushes outside?

Nacho Varga | Better Call Saul | Old Timer

[nachocheese]

( the drifting, DAY 1-2 )
It's a testament to the slow decline of Nacho's sanity that his first thought is only, "Not this shit again." when he realizes some of their crew are talking like they've been here for years. Some of them talk like they've lived here all their lives.

Karsa says not to say anything to them, so he doesn't.

Anyway, he thinks, would it be so bad to stay here? After all, being a tax collector isn't glamorous and it doesn't win you a lot of friends, but it's a legitimate, legal job, and he's good at it. Maybe this is his chance to do things right, he thinks, live the normal, legal life his father would have wanted him to live...

There's a somehow ominous knock on the door of your place of business or your residence that afternoon. Open it, and see Nacho wordlessly extending his tax collector jar to you, one eyebrow raised meaningfully. Pay up.

( the drifting part ii - DAY 3-4 )
Or, open it to see a slightly more haggard Nacho holding up candles. Drugs, as it turns out, tend to sell themselves. Candles require more legwork, and so far he's not having much luck. He promised Jesse he'd try, though, so here he is.

"Hey," he says, as you open the door. He looks you up and down, trying to decide if you're the kind of person he's okay with hawking pyramid scheme candles to. If you look poor, or he knows from his other job that you're behind on your taxes, expect him to quickly rescind his offer. If, however, you look like you've got more dollars than sense, he'll launch into his scripted speech.

( drifting, part iii - NIGHT 5 )
cw: brief mention of drugs and drug trafficking

The pungent odor of an upholstery shop fills one of the upstairs rooms at the dilapidated restaurant that Nacho and a few others call home. It's a smell that was comforting for Nacho, once upon a time, even if it isn't to most people. Now, though, it burns his lungs and makes his heart ache with guilt. He still see it even now. His father, hiding around a corner, watching Hector helplessly with pained, angry eyes... thinking about his father's beloved shop being used to funnel drugs...

It hurts Nacho even now to think about it.

He closes his eyes, breathing hard but trying to get back to sleep when he hears it. Just outside his window. Unmistakably, that's his father's voice. Talking about-- talking about work shit, nothing important, but that his old man--

Simple logic would dictate that his father wouldn't be trying to fit upholstery here, now, in the middle of the night, but Nacho is half-asleep and not operating on normal waking logic. He jumps up and flings himself out of bed, opening his door with such force it bounces against the wall. "Dad!" he yells, rubbing the sleep out of one eye.

Also, yeah, he is still in sleep clothes as he charges down the stairs, through the restaurant, barreling past anyone ringing bells for chowder or doing just about anything else, yelling frantically, "Dad! Dad!"

He's heading for directly outdoors, and he's probably being loud enough to wake everyone in the place if they're not up already.

( they sleep - MAY 22)
cw: minor, magic-induced suicidal ideation

Nacho is unable to look away from the scratches on the inside of the lids of some of the boats. He's unable to look away from any of it. He rests a hand on a boat lid there, crouches down to get a better look at something there. He frowns thoughtfully as he does it.

The ocean water that gently laps at the edges of the returned funeral boats is dark but more and more tempting by the second. He can imagine, at first, how cool the water would feel against his skin if he slipped into it, and when that's not enough to convince him to take the plunge his thoughts become more intense. More vividly, he thinks suddenly that he shouldn't be, that his existence was supposed to be over now. He took his own life. That was supposed to be the end.

There's a crash and a splash as Nacho halfway flings, half lets himself fall into the water.

( ill met by moonlight - MAY 27 )
You're probably a housemate, or maybe a restaurant patron! Maybe you're not at the Dancing Seagull at all; who knows, this could be somewhere else completely different. He's not the type not to go out and try to save people who need it, after all.

Wherever you are, though, one of the walking dead is creeping slowly past you. Nacho is on top of you, hand lightly pressing against your mouth. "Shhh," he whispers into your ear. "Don't. Move."

( wildcard )
[ Something else grab your fancy? Feel free to BYOS (Bring Your Own Starter). As a note, willing to match whatever style you prefer; just did this in prose because it was easier for me to get it written that way! ]

ill met by moonlight :3 (lmk if this works!)

[makemeasong]

Now that things have gone to absolute hell, like she figured they would eventually (although, it isn't Hell hell this time, so that's nice), Clara has been looking for the people she cares about. Especially the people who've gone out of their way to save her or make sure she's okay.

It's Nacho she's trying to find now, being as small and quiet as possible. Clara's done an impressive job so far and she enters the restaurant quietly, not daring to whisper yet. It's then that she feels herself being pulled close, eyes wide in alarm as a hand goes over her mouth. As soon as her brain registers that it's actually him, she nods and presses closer, trying to blend into whatever shadows there are.

Yuna - Final Fantasy X - Tourist

[whtmagic]

I. Lost at Sea

[ Yuna has been terribly quiet since waking up on the beach. For a long time, it was because... depression. She thought they had defeated Sin. What else could make something like this happen? The very same thing that had happened to him?

But as days go by and the situation gets clearer, she learns that Sin is not the case. Or, rather, can't be the only reason this has happened. Undead lords, they claim. Unsent. Perhaps this is Maester Seymour's doing in some way. Another trick.

It's only when she's handed her papers that she truly suspects this has nothing to do with Sin, Seymour, or even Spira at all. This is- Well. This card claims that she is a mermaid who has recently gained legs. And while she may feel like that, yes, this is when everything becomes clear.

Or... when everything gets extremely confusing. ]

... What?

II. (Don't) Hold Your Breath

[ It takes a little while, but Yuna finally begins to focus on this new adventure. It's crazy, everything's gone nuts, but she's ready to make the most out of it and get back home.

So, ever the team player, Yuna climbs into a row boat and sets out for this House of Commerce. And doesn't get far. It's not like anyone taught a young summoner how to lockpick, even though Rikku has certainly offered a time or five.

And now, her frustrations are starting to get the best of her. Because surely it can't be that hard! Put the sticks in! Wiggle them around! Break another one! Try again! ]

Oooh- [ She stands and tosses another broken one to the ground. ] Fine! Be that way! I'll just... find another way inside...

[ Oh no... Might have to climb... Well, she's already breaking and entering-- ]

III. They Sleep

[ After the disaster at the House of Commerce (because whatever happened there, it was probably a disaster for her in some form), Yuna goes back to doing what she knows, what she's skilled at. Part of her skills include laying the dead to rest, and this whole ordeal about the unsent has her admittedly worried.

While she doesn't feel well about pretending to be a mourner, she does so for the greater good. But once the boats reach them, once they're opened- It's hard to keep up the charade when the locals don't seem confused at all. Their murmurs about the water accepting the dead don't put her at ease either.

Her fingers brush against the scratch marks on one casket lid, imagining what this person must have gone through, that they must have been put in here alive... But none of this makes sense.

She looks to the water and stares into the darkness. Eventually, she walks forward, her feet sinking into the waves... and she keeps walking... ]

IV. Wildcard

[ OOC: Something else in mind? Go ahead! I'm game! ]

(don't) hold your breath

[a_silent_due]

( The way inside is a battering ram, a fist or sharp-tipped thing. A bit of sweat and someone else's bleeding to lubricate the encounter.

The way inside is Kanda Yuu, building a run's momentum from (flooded) no where to apply his wit (questionable, absent) and his shoulder (bony, but there) to the job. He's toiled the better part of an hour willing a boat into submission, born through the ongoing commentary of locals either ridiculing that the oar rows the other way or cheering on his incompetence, and now. Now.

Kanda is in his element of natural, explosive violence. Never mind subtlety, smooth coaxing of the locks, scaling the territory. Hell hath no fury like an exorcist determined to barrel into architectural wasteland.

...regrettable that there's a human obstacle still orbiting the same doorway. )

Out of the way, you fly —

( Incomiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing — )