wellcome | 3.0 Test Drive Meme

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3.0 Test Drive Meme

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Welcome to Well! Characters arrive a little differently this month (see the first prompt). Your character arrives this month in the middle of the formless desert with only a handful of memories, clad in old west style clothes of your choosing, with no items from home.

Anyone is free to play on the TDM, but you need an invite to apply. Feel free to use these prompts, and interact with the arrival or locations. NPCs are around, but only say a certain set of phrases. TDMs can be considered game canon.

This TDM takes place from the first week of August onward, and can happen concurrently with other events during August and September. This will be the only TDM for August, September, and October.

Applications are open July 26th until August 1st, and August 27th until September 1st. Invites are available for friends of current players.

A Little Lost

Content warnings: heat exhaustion, feelings of unreality

You wake up in a sea of sand. It’s hot, and dry, and it seems to go on forever. You don’t remember much about yourself except your name and a handful of memories that most likely aren’t useful right now.

The sand slip-slides under your feet with every step. Sun beats down heavy and hot on your neck and your head. You’re so thirsty. How did you get here? How long have you been walking? Where are you headed? You can’t know. You feel like you’ve been walking forever, but the sun stays high above you, like it’s always noon. It may have been hours, it may have been mere minutes. What are those things circling in the sky above you? Vultures? That can't mean anything good.

Eventually, you find someone else, another new arrival, maybe, or a resident of the town who may have wandered a little too far into the desert. Maybe they have some water on them? Either way, company is exactly what you need right now, because there sure isn’t anything else in this desolate place. Not a cactus, not an animal, not even hints of a town.

Once you’re together, it seems a little easier to move forward. Time starts to move, too. The sun dips in the sky, your feet tread through the sand, and together, eventually you find the town.

If you take too long after you find one another, and the sun sets, be careful. Cacti sprout up closer to town, and after the sun sets, the cacti start to move, and they seem hungry for blood.

tl;dr:

This time, new arrivals wake up lost in the middle of a vast desert.
There's too much sun, too much sand, vultures circling and too little water.
Finding each other makes time start again, and lets you find the town.
If you don't make it back to town before nightfall, vicious living cacti appear to attack you.

Face Your Fears

Content warnings: hallucinations, reality shifts

In this town, fear soaks the hot, dry air. It lurks in shadows and the corners of rooms, waiting for their moment. What is it that you fear? Monsters? Disappointing your parents? Maybe you’re afraid that everyone you love will leave you, or that you’ll end up alone. Whatever it is, right now, there’s a chance of becoming very real.

It happens suddenly. Your mind drifts. You lose focus on what you were doing, and when you look up again, the world around you has shifted. What was a nice lunch with a new friend or a fun visit to the saloon becomes a nightmare. What fear manifests is totally up to you, and it can be different every time. The person beside you could become a monster you think is trying to attack you, or you could be suddenly alone in a cold dark space, desolate and empty.

Whatever horror your mind conjures up for you, it will feel real in all ways and with all senses including, of course, your perception of pain. As far as you know, you’re trapped in a nightmare with no way out.

Except, of course, there is a way out: you just need to figure out that it isn’t real. Maybe you’re strong enough to do that on your own; maybe you’ll need help from a friend or a new pal, reaching through the illusion to pull you back. After all, these hallucinations are entirely in the mind of the beholder: to everyone around you, it sure just looks like you’re yelling at your pancakes!

tl;dr:

You start hallucinating that the things you fear most are actually happening to you.
These fears feel like real, concrete sensory experiences, even though they're only happening in your head.
You can escape by recognizing that what's happening isn't real, either on your own or with help.

Bullrider

Content warnings: mild bovine coercion, alcohol

Come on, hot stuff. You know you want to.

Bet you can’t stay on for more than half a minute.

You don’t look too tough.

You think you can tame me?

In the saloon, you hear a voice in your head. It calls to you, the words seductive and enticing: you want to prove it wrong, you want to find out what it’s promising, you hate to lose. Whatever the motivation, you find yourself abandoning your drink and making your way to the new attraction at the back of the saloon: the bull.

It’s a big boy: a massive mechanical bull. Covered in spotted cowhide, with a bull head and big horns, this thing sits on a massive pedestal like a challenge. Around it is spread... relatively thin padding and a flimsy rope to keep the audience back an appropriate distance.

The compulsion keeps a hold on you until you’re on the bull. Maybe you’re on it with a friend, or a stranger, and it starts up with a mechanical buzzing. It starts to sway under you, and now you have just one job: stay on.

It starts easy, but gets harder as it goes along. It’s incredibly difficult to stay on for more than a minute. But during that minute, you feel amazing. You feel hot as hell, in whatever way that works for you: sexy, powerful, bold, in control.

Until he throws you off onto the padding or into the crowd! When you get thrown, there's a good chance you'll go flying into the crowd. Hopefully they're ready to catch you!

If by some miracle you manage to stay on for more than a minute and a half, the bartender slides you a bullrider special: a spicy whiskey cocktail with a hint of lime. Feel free to leave it up to pure chance, and have the mods roll a die for you to see whether you manage to stay on or not.

tl;dr:

There's a mechanical bull in the back of the saloon!
There's a strange deep voice in your head, coercing you into giving it a shot.
It's hard to stay on, but when you're on it, you feel powerful, bold and in control.
The padding's pretty thin and you'll get thrown hard when you do. You might hit someone!
If you stay on for more than a minute and a half, you'll get a fun little drink as a reward.

Threaded | Flat

Or failures! Give us your questions or let us roll a die for you.

1. a little lost
cw: desert exposure

When Alec blinks his eyes open, the first thing he notices is how singularly, perfectly blue the sky is. The second is the dark shapes circling against it. The third is that he has no idea where he is.

He spends a while sitting on the sand considering that, flipping the white hood of the poncho he's swathed in up over his dark hair to shield himself from the sunlight. Thinking about it doesn't get him anything except a worsening headache.

So up he gets. He picks a direction, and he starts walking, trudging in his white cowboy boots over the sand. Someone stitched rhinestones into them, and he watches the sunlight bounce off them as he walks. When he looks up, he spots another wanderer, and he changes direction to intercept them. It seems like the thing to do.

He doesn't cut much of an inspiring figure for anyone hoping for rescue, being a slender-limbed, shortish teenage boy who stops short a healthy distance from whoever he's approaching with a flat, slightly curious stare, but maybe he's better than nothing.

"Hey," he says, and looks a little surprised at the softness of his own voice.

2. lobby loitering
cw: none

After claiming his hotel room, Alec spent a whole hour in it. He tested out the springiness of the mattress, fiddled with the shower to achieve the perfect water temperature, used a healthy dollop of the hotel soap getting rid of the clinging sand, swaddled himself in the plush robe, brushed his gritty teeth, tested out the mattress again, examined the furniture and fixtures, pawed through the wardrobe, changed into a new outfit (different white poncho, black pants, soft white ruffled shirt), and decided he was bored.

So he pulled on his rhinestoned boots and went back down to the lobby, where he can be found sitting cross-legged on top of the front desk, eyeballing the receptionist with mild interest. When he notices you approaching, he turns his attention your way.

"Do you mind doing me a favor?" He tilts his head in the receptionist's direction, messy, damp curls falling loosely around his face. "Ask him a question. Anything, doesn't matter."

3. bullrider
cw: underage drinking

The mechanical bull is stupid. Alec may not have the memories to contextualize why he immediately knows it's stupid, but it's an intuition he has the second he sees it, and every embarrassing performance that people put on confirms it beyond a doubt. You'd have to be a complete idiot to hop onto a machine designed to fling you ass first on the ground in front of a room of cheering drunks.

What's stupider is that it doesn't even look that hard. All you should have to do to stay on for longer than a minute is to work with the momentum, not against it. Alec could see that from across the room, and it's even more obvious once he's sidled up to the ropes around it. It should be easy, but people just can't seem to stop fucking up.

As soon as he's sitting on it and it thrums to life, he knows he was right. A tiny smile crooks his mouth as the bull starts to buck, and - maybe it's not actually that stupid, if you're good at it.

Alec's good at it. The skinny teenager clings to the back of the bull through its violent mechanical jerking as if riding wild beasts comes naturally to him, his smile never faltering. Even when it finally flings him off several seconds past the challenge time limit he dismounts with grace that almost seems practised, twisting to land on his feet and one hand braced against the floor. He unfolds with a cocky gleam in his pale blue eyes, running his fingers through his mussed hair as he swaggers over to the bar.

"You can all go ahead and give up now," he declares, graciously, to the crowd at large.

4. wildcard/contact
[ Feel free to PM my journal or message me on Plurk/Discord at terriblepurpose (same username for both) to request alternate prompts. Also, I'm happy to match brackets or prose for tags at your preference. ]

Edited 2023-07-19 22:52 (UTC)

( 1. a little lost )
[ When Pyrrha first spots someone else out here in the desert, she thinks she must be hallucinating.

Then she decides it doesn't matter if she's hallucinating or not. There's someone there, and surely even talking to a figment of her imagination is better than slowly roasting to death out here in the desert. So Pyrrha hurries over, one hand holding her hat in place and her gait slightly awkward on the sand. ]

Hello? Excuse me, but-- do you know where we are?

[ She really, really hopes whoever she's talking to is real. ]

( 2. a little prickly )
[ They're not too far from town when the sun finally sets, and truthfully Pyrrha is relieved. It might be more dangerous to travel at night, but without the sun beating down on them the heat will surely abate. She thinks whatever they may encounter in the next ten minutes won't be nearly so dangerous as heatstroke.

Naturally, the cacti immediately set out to prove her wrong. Pyrrha spots one of them moving and thinks she must be imagining things, but then it proves her right by lurching forward. It's certainly not what she was expecting, but Pyrrha still has the sense to grab her traveling partner and attempt to pull them out of harm's way. ]

Watch out!

( 3. bullrider )
[ Pyrrha... has no idea what she's looking at, in all honesty - but everyone else seems to be having fun, so she may as well stick around and see what's going on. She has no compulsion to try it out herself, and after the first rider gets tossed she's very grateful for that. She feels a twinge of sympathy even when the riders are thrown to the mat, so the first time one gets thrown clear into the crowd (and directly onto the ground when most of the crowd moves) she outright flinches.

Still, even without her memories just leaving them to languish doesn't sit right with her, and they didn't land far from where Pyrrha is standing. So she takes a few steps closer, kneeling down to inspect the now-former bullrider. ]

Are you alright?

lost

[is that a mirage or is a brawny clydesdale centaur about eight feet tall trotting up to you]

Hey! Bro. What're you doing out here? C'mon back to town, I think it's... this way? Maybe? Uh, have an iced tea, you look real thirsty.

[where did that come from! but. hey. it's a paper latte cup full of cold tea, you might need that right about now.]

bull
[When Vic follows the bull's call, quite susceptible to that kind of coercion, and climbs on top of it, it looks... hm. He comes up from the back and covers it and locks his legs around the hide-covered body, leaning down to grab the horns with his hands, and clarity reappears just before it starts moving.]

Uh, sure hope this doesn't look inapp-whOAH!

[How does the mechanism cope with at least a ton of horseflesh weighing it down? It might be slower, the spins and bucking more ponderous, and there may be a bit of high whining strain as it moves. But it does move! Vic grins ear to ear for about two minutes, before his grip loosens and the bull twitches out from between his forelegs, more of a stumbling dismount than a throw.

After that he lingers, trying not to wince drinking his cocktail. His legs are a bit sore from the frankly unfamiliar use, he's not getting on again - but he will try and catch other riders in when they're thrown!]

Sick air time, bro!

a little lost

[ he hates hot weather. that's the first real conscious thought he has to himself, as he takes in the surroundings, and even the carrion birds waiting for him to become their next meal. His next thought is a confused mess as he realizes that he's missed so many steps from his last memory.

he remembers being significantly smaller, actually. It's disconcerting. But he knows he shouldn't wait around to find out-- and so he walks.

And pleasantly greets the first person he sees, ]

Hello. I don't suppose you'd know where we are, would you...?

a little prickly

[ once in town, he's more skittish than anything. he takes steps to be friendly to anyone who tries to talk to him, but honestly, as soon as he can find a way to slip away, he does. Instinctively not trusting, that's the most he can tell about himself. The rest, is a mystery.

and so, it's by himself that he first realizes that he's getting lost in the black hole, and what had been a desert, quickly turns to a forest with rain. And he is truly all alone. he doesn't even dare call out or alert anyone to his presence as he wanders alone down a dirt road. ]

wildcard

[ surprise me! pm this journal to plot. ]

1. a little lost
[ Walking for long periods doesn't bother Mosscap in the slightest. It makes its way across the sand for a while, a long while, until it's quite sure that something is definitely wrong. Well, several things are wrong: it's never been to a desert before, it's quite sure. It also didn't travel to a desert, that it knows. The sun also hasn't moved in far too long. In 2.85 hours, to its own internal measurement, which may be wrong anyway, since it's now out of sync with the sun.

To that end, Mosscap decides that it may as well study what's happening. It stops walking, sand leaking out of its joints, and stares up at the sun, as if by watching it, the sun will move. It, itself, doesn't move one inch, happily studying the sun--at least for a while.

Whenever someone comes close, it perks up, looking right toward you with blue glowing eyes ]

Oh, hello! The sun is very bright. Although, it is a desert, so it makes sense that the sun would be quite bright at noon.

2. at the saloon
[ Mosscap has drinks in front of it, so many drinks. It hasn't drunk a single one, but it keeps ordering them, pointing to bottles behind the bartender and asking what they are. Instead of answering it, she pours him a glass of whatever it is it pointed at ]

This is wasteful, but also--may I see the blue one?

[ It points to a bottle full of blue liquid, and the bartender pours it a glass and slides it to Mosscap, who catches the glass easily, holding it up to admire the liquid ]

This is rather alcoholic, isn't it? Oh, it might be useful for something... perhaps starting a fire...

Do you like to start fires?

[ It asks you, whoever's next to it. ]

3. bullriding
[ Mosscap manages to stay on the bull for about 5 seconds before it loses its grip and goes head over heels over the horns of the bull. Its body clanks as it hits the ground, and if it could smile it would be, because that was incredibly fun.

It stumbles to its feet, coming up to the person closest to it ]

Is this to practice? For a living bull? Or have real bulls died out? That's very sad.

1. the bull

"Hold my beer," says God.

You did not ask for this. You probably don't know this guy. The man beside you is kind of scrawny, thirty-something, unremarkable apart from the awful eyes: black from edge to edge, alight with a ring of white fire. In this moment, they burn with old strength. He rolls his shoulders, he cracks his neck, he exudes the eclipse-heavy confidence of someone with power.

The bull throws him on his ass in four seconds flat.

It's kind of impressive: he hits the ground at a bad angle, and with an ugly crunch. There is a moment's drawn silence.

"I've remembered something," says the guy from the floor. He sits up, rumpled, a little mournful: "I am not an athlete."

2. the desert

When you find him, he's sitting in the sand, cross-legged and slouching. From a distance, he looks half-dead. A guy wearing all black, in this heat? It'd be a miracle if he didn't get heatstroke.

But he's awake and alert, as you draw closer. There is blood smudged at his lip and chin, in his ear canals, crusted at the corners of his eyes. With one hand he wipes at it, absently, with a sleeve; with the other, he sinks his fingertips into the sand. He keeps drawing his fingers out, frowning at the way the sand sinks to fill the hole.

It all reminds him of something. The heat, the thirst, the plodding emptiness of a wasteland-- the way sand gives under his feet-- but the sky is wrong, too clean a blue. The air doesn't smell right. He shouldn't be alone.

"Can you feel it?" he asks when you're close enough, his voice cracked and low. "It's all humming."

So that's normal.

3. wildcard

[ Tap me at ochrona or hit me with your own! ]

Arrival

[She was in the desert with nothing but her name-- a name she wasn't even fully certain of without the presence of another to help reaffirm this. The heat was hot and the sun was bright, and yet--

It was impossible. It had to be. The sky, with its boundless expanse and blinding blue, felt like an all too familiar friend, but the sand... was dry. Too dry, and every nerve in her fingers fizzled and frayed like a seabird that had been denied both it's meal an it's roost.

Walking for what felt like hours, Cecily-- herself a mirage of blue and white, with bits of colored cloth hanging tattered and ragged from her antlers-- finally spotted another in the sandy expanse. Despite the sweat and the sand, she approached them with an dissonantly confident smile.

It would have been easy to snap and complain. Instead, she chose to step into a different role instead of the thread of a metaphorical inferno that was just under her fingertips.]

Hot, isn't it? [She asked.] How much do you want to bet that we're both just dreaming?

Bullriding

[Enough was enough.

Cecily could endure any number of taunts and other sorts of tactics meant to wear a person down-- but, direct challenges were hard enough to ignore. Towards the end of the night, with her white linen shirt unbuttoned at the chest and her boots clicking on the hard wood of the barroom floor in her own impatience, eventually slammed down the rest of her tequila and grapefruit soda cocktail (a paloma???) and sauntered her way over to the bull.

She cast her eyes over to the nearest person as she approached, a bold smile on her lips.]

Care to join me?

[She asked in low, sultry tones. The bodies in movement under the sway of the dance music was a backdrop that she knew in her bones. Somewhere, somehow, she could almost smell the heady fragrance of jasmine on the night wind.]

Wildcard!

[Feel free to make up a prompt! Hit me up at

woodrift for plotting!]

Edited 2023-07-20 02:41 (UTC)

1.) A Little Lost:

Out of all the places she would have expected to wake up the middle of the desert isn't one of them, not that she has any real reason to believe this or know for sure seeing how Dawn has no memory of who she is or where she was before this but it just seems like one of those things you don't experience all that often.

Waking up with your face in the dirt, the hot noon sun beating down on you and your mouth as dry as the area around you.

"Shit."

She says to herself, looking around at the miles and miles of sand and sun. Every direction looks the same and eventually she sighs and picks a direction at random to start walking, her cowboy boots kicking up dry earth as she trudges along. It's hard to say how long she walks for, it feels like an eternity and yet the sun doesn't budge and pretty soon she is sweating and feeling faint.

Apparently she is not made for the heat and yet she keeps going, knowing that she has no choice. It's either keep going or lay down and die and something inside her doesn't like that idea one bit.

Eventually the scenery changes, just a little. Something is up ahead in the distance and at first she thinks it's just her eyes playing tricks on her but as she gets closer she sees it's not just a something but a someone.

"Hello?" She calls out, her voice cracking from having to raise it.

"Are you real or a mirage?"

3.) Bullrider:

You don’t look too tough.

She doesn't know why the thought enters her mind nor does she know why her immediate reaction is to turn and look at the bull, her dark brown eyes slightly squinting as if she were trying to challenge it with just her stare.

"We'll see about that."

Dawn abandons her whiskey and marches over towards the bull, it's a bit of a funny sight seeing how she is such a petite woman. Barely five foot four and built like a music-box ballerina and yet she climbs on the bull with no sign of fear or nerves. It starts up and she holds on tightly, moving her body in time with it's wild rocking and jerking motions and to both her surprise and maybe a few others she manages to last longer than expected.

It feels good, and more so she feels almost powerful with how well she's doing. And for one moment she is allowed a feeling of triumph but then she gets cocky and tries to adjust her grip, the bull seems to sense this even though it's a machine and tosses her off.

"SHIT!!" She manages to cry out as her small frame is bucked off and she goes flying towards one of the other patrons of the bar.

You better either catch her or move out of the way!

A little lost

[The oppressive heat batters at him like the waves of the sea. He takes another step.

His mind is empty. What had he been thinking about before? His fingers grasp at smoke.

A train in the stars. A sin. A spear.

The sea. Step.

He has to keep going. To stop is a luxury for those not being hunted. To stop for those who did not commit sin.

Step.

The way forward is the only way. His clothes are wrong. Just a simple long coat and pants, with a shirt that has too much short fringe. His dark brown hair is too short to keep the sun off the back of his neck.

His name. He recalls his name.] My name is…

Dan. [He pauses. He steps.] Dan.

[Burning red eyes. A sin. The sea. A train in the stars. Running running running. To the ends of the stars-

He walks on.] My name is Dan Heng. I am a guard.

Fear your fears

[The sand warps under his feet. A black stone floor. Walls that seem to reach for the heavens to the blackness high over head. Yet it feels like a prison deep below.

He runs. Someone is coming after him. He can’t stop. He has to keep going and going or something terrible will happen.

It always does.

Because he did something. The details aren’t where they should be. But he committed a sin. What sin?

Red eyes burn in the darkness. A voice speaks but he can’t hear the words. They pound against his ears no matter how far he runs. He runs past someone and he has the sense to call out.] Run! He won’t harm you if you don’t interfere!

Wildcard

[Got an idea? Hit me in pms for plotting out a custom starter.]

A LITTLE LOST

Wonderful.

Jamie trudges through the sand, dabbing his face with the dark scarf that was wrapped around his neck. The sun bears down on him, sweat dripping down his face as he tries to remember how he got here. He wasn't one for the outdoors (the only guess to that was his fair skin tone), and he was wearing clothing too dark to be considered safe for the desert. Dark jeans, dark cotton button-down shirt, dark scarf - if he knew he was going to be lost maybe he would have dressed for the heat!

What he wishes he had more than anything was a hair tie. His long, blond hair is matted against his forehead, and his neck, making it infinitely frustrating as he continues to brush it out of his face. He stops briefly, wiping his forehead as he covers his eyes and looks out into the vastness that was the desert, then up into the sky as he watches vultures (are they vultures?) circle above him.

He's going to die out here, wasn't he?

"Come on sun, move already." He groans, glancing out into the distance again. "... let me die in the cold and not of heat stroke."

Blink. Wait. Was that... a person?

"H-hey! Hey you over there!" He waves, pushing forward. "Please be real." He mutters as he starts moving in that direction.

FACE YOUR FEARS

After managing to clean up and look like a normal human being again, he makes his way down to the hotel lobby. The desert heat still was getting to him, but at least he could pull his hair up into a high bun and keep it off his neck. He makes his way to the front desk, hoping to get some answers, and maybe see if he can get a stiff drink.

Luckily for him, he's at least able to get an answer out of the hotel staff about where he can get a drink without figuring out anything was too amiss about the people in town (oh but he will learn). He turns from the front desk, and freezes, watching as a tall man (roughly 6') stands in the doorway leading out of the hotel. He's sneering, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Jamie down. Jamie's heart practically stops, eyes widening in fear and he starts to back away.

He's not entirely sure why, however.

"What do you want?" He narrows his eyes, guard up as he tries to remember who this man is. He's seen him before, standing over him with a knife in hand, blood dripping down the blade as it impales him over and over--

The man smiles, and just takes a step forward.

"G-Get away from me!"

He doesn't realize that no one is there.

BULLRIDER

He thought it would be a nice, quiet time in the saloon, something to calm his nerves from the day's events. Jamie still didn't know where he was (or well he knew the name of the town, but not exactly where it was in relation to where he was...from? Huh.), and the town's people were... very strange. He's had the same conversation three times - exactly the same dialogue as if it was a pre-recorded response. They seemed like humans, flesh and blood - but what if they were very good-looking robots? Whatever they were, he was glad to just sit in the saloon, ignore the shouting and cheers, and drink.

Except he can't ignore the noise for long. It pulls him away from his drink, off the bar stool to the back of the saloon. There, once he's in a good enough position to see, was the massive mechanical bull, and he scoffs initially. Why anyone would ride it was beyond him - it would just hurt when they were thrown off. Except, now he was watching, entranced, something in him willing to give this a chance. It didn't look that hard. Maybe it just looked more difficult than it was! He crosses his arms over his chest, watching, waiting for his turn.

"Do you think you'll give it a try?" He asks the person next to him, not bothering to turn his gaze away and address them.

Because whatever their answer was, Jamie was going to absolutely try.

WILDCARD

[Have another idea? Go ahead and drop in a top-level here! If you'd like to talk something out you can PM this journal or message me at Redfielding]

o1 is for the newcomers.

Come here, this way--

[those unfamiliar figures who shamble out of the desert, who have all their limbs and a proper heartbeat, are ones Cecelia finds herself on the lookout for. there's apprehensive hope in each sharp-eyed sighting that one of those will be a familiar face...

so many are still missing since she woke.

that doesn't mean she can abandon the new lost souls.

she's not strong, but she's dependable. she'll approach with a handkerchief to wipe sweat-soaked brows and a bottle of water in her satchel to share.]

[for those already in town, who have made it to the diner in particular, they may find her already seated in a booth with iced tea for herself and a couple spiral-bound novelty notepads stacked up - one of which she has open to a half-finished page.

make eye contact with her while she's mid-sip? no escape now. she'll keep her gaze fixed and, once she can, speak up:]

New, yes? Spare a moment? [she'll gesture across from her.]

o2 is for the regulars.

[first thing's first: calm down.

the panic of the abrupt shift from doomsday to Tuesday isn't easy to adjust to, and honestly? Cecelia's glad for that - that seems to be the kind of thing one would consider correct, as far as reactions go. to become numb to this process just two times in would be disturbing, she thinks.

still, she at least has a better checklist in mind as she comes down from trembling and short breaths.

after a quick shower, change of clothes, and a bit of time braiding back her hair - enough time to take stock of herself, the events that transpired, and what she needs to do moving forward - she searches around her room, doing cursory checks for things that are present or absent or downright new (the wardrobe never does suit her tastes, unfortunately), she grabs the satchel Darin crafted for her, grateful to find it already stocked with her regular supplies.

she opens her door at the far end of the fourth floor and looks about, ears focused on searching out the sounds of survivors.]

...Anyone?

[Bueller?]

[much of her time is in the hotel this first week taking stock of people and items, so she's an easy find. she knows she should investigate the other buildings at some point, but doing so alone makes it feel more the troublesome chore than it truly is...

(she just hates the musical ambiance; it's so loud to her ears! how does anyone focus?)

that said, she's not so lost in her own lists and investigations as to miss someone in her peripheral; her attention is easy to grab.]

Mm-? Oh--

I. A Little Lost/Arrival

[Keiichi Maebara has been walking. Of all the things he currently knows, this is the one thing he knows the most; he has feet, there is ground unsteady beneath him, and he is walking. There is the sky above him, vultures circling, and he is walking.

He doesn't know how long it's been. He might've been walking his whole life, a hazy sandy dream. But there's a handful of things ratcheting around the dunes of his mind that make him think that, maybe, he was doing something before this.

And as he sees the silhouette of another person, maybe he'll be doing something after. Maybe more walking.]

Hey— [His voice breaks as he calls out, hoarse and dry. He swallows, but there's no saliva to lubricate the desert his mouth has decided to mimic.] —sorry, do you have water?

II. Face Your Fears
And a big fat CW for bugs, slight body horror, and self-harm!

Get them out, get them out, get them out...

[He should never have stopped walking. He should never have come here. If you're not walking, you're standing still, and if you're standing still, you're rotting. And do you know what loves rotting things?

Insects. Countless insects. Burrowing. Hungry, hungry insects. They must've been in the water, or the air, or the accusatory eyes of figures he can't recognize staring down at him. Judging, accusing. His hands claw at his neck, seeking release from his torment.]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please just take them out! I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry!

[Scratch scratch scratch. He's huddled in some alleyway, alone, eyes focused on empty space, unable to notice anyone who might be there.]

III. Bullrider

[Massaging at his throat and trying not to think about earlier events, he finds himself drawn by a voice to the saloon, and is struck by the sudden urge to attempt to tear that bull apart. To grab a chair and just start swinging—up and down, up and down.

A chill goes down his spine, but he's not sure why. It's enough to keep him in the audience instead of on the bull, however, and when someone else passes near him, he'll speak up.]

I don't trust that thing. I think... I think it means us harm.

[A normal thing to say.]

01. the wasteland

All she can see, all the way out to the horizon, is sand and sky. No plants, no real sign of life. Camilla has to tip back the wide brim of a stone-grey hat to mark the position of the sun in the sky, and she briefly thinks, where the hell would I have gotten a hat like this?. She startles at the conviction of it, flails for the self-knowledge of what it is she likes or doesn't like to wear, of why she is or is not familiar with anything from here.

It's gone. A classic mistake, darting too fast instead of approaching obliquely, of wanting too much, telegraphing her need to know, and like water through her hands any following knowledge slips away with just a sharp headache left behind.

Like her and the sand, even her memories won't stay.
At least, she thinks sardonically, if she's losing her mind, there's no one out here to see.

She takes another sharp look at the sun, squinting; it's not quite overhead. There's no other sign of where to go, so she points herself toward the half of the dome with more sky, judging from the light -- and the heat; she's already unconsciously stripping the jacket she's wearing off, a little stiff but still soft under her hands, some kind of real hide -- that it's past midday, not still rising. If she orients somewhat toward sunrise, she reckons, at least the sun won't travel toward her. She puts herself at a 45 degree angle to the imaginary path she's drawn, so the sun isn't quite as directly in her face, rolls up the sleeves of the woven shirt, and starts walking.

She doesn't know how long she does that for.
Long enough to know that she should have gone some distance for her calves to be aching on flat land -- and to recognize this is a thing she knows about herself; long enough to unbutton her shirt down to a sweat-soaked white undershirt and throw the jacket over her shoulders in the hopes of both layers swaying with her movement and generating some breeze.

Long enough to remember she isn't just alone here, now, but that she has lost everything. The only thing -- the only person who matters. To feel that emptiness in her gut like a weight, like a planet of weight.

Long enough to realize the sun hasn't moved.
She crouches down, squinting wearily in every direction, and scoops up a pinch of the scalding sand in her hands, looking at it for any indication of -- anything.
There's nothing. Nothing even that slips away from her memory.
Except a breeze, warm but something, that takes it away from her, whispering.
She shivers, a little. Or does the ground tremble, or is it sound? She lifts her head, slowly aware to be alert.

03. bull rider

Cam has decided three things: she doesn't at all mind an old fashioned, as recommended to her by the bartender; she doesn't prefer to drink as quickly as most others in the bar, and she's not as rattled by the bartender as a few of the others seem to be. She is intrigued by the few repetitive phrases in her lexicon, but she seems well meaning, and Cam can't say much about herself either, so she's happy enough to have another drink and stay in the cool.

Right now, though, she's drawn to the odd machine, the mechanical bull that's drawn a group. It's a clunky sort of device, dressed up with a patterned skin, rope and horns, and it bucks and pivots, challenging its rider to stay on. It looks ridiculous, really; she watches as someone goes flying off it after what looked like a promising start and collides.
You could do better. The thought enters her mind, in a voice she doesn't recognize -- or maybe she does, and can't recall. She could, she considers, feeling for once today a comfortable sort of pride settle into her stomach, sipping her drink and watching quietly, not cheering or jeering. You want to show them?

So she steps up.
It's not the worst display -- she lasts maybe half the time it'd take to get a free drink -- but as soon as the thing starts jerking and bucking under her, she can tell she doesn't have the first idea how to ride a mechanical bull and why should she? But she wants it. The worst part is, it's just out of reach: she can feel it under her skin, the idea of moving differently; she just can't quite get to it. It's as though her body's a puppet she hasn't gotten the hang of manipulating yet. In the last couple seconds, something clicks, somewhere, but she's half slid off by then, and the thing jerks upward and tosses her over the front of it.

Camilla hits the floor in front of a group of patrons hard; bristling as she hears aww and laughter. She rolls into it, instinct providing her with that much, rolls over one shoulder. Get up. You never learned anything by failing and giving up. The voice is more her own, this time, but there's a confident, patient undertone to it. You have this.

She orders a shot at the bar, downs it, stretches her sore shoulder and makes her way back up to the bull. The staff member looks a little surprised and a couple of the random onlookers toward the back of the bull call give it up, honey!, but he nods her up.

This time, it's like a light turns on. She can do this. She's done much harder things. She holds on tight with her thighs and finds the rhythm of the thing, using her hips and abs to counterbalance it, a duel, a dance. As people who'd initially chuckled at her trying again start to blink and watch, her lips curl at the edge with a smirk. It feels good. It feels great, their surprised gazes; she goes so far as to twist around as she rides it to tip her hat and lift an eyebrow at the ones who jeered aloud. She knocks her hat back and grins as the timer goes off, dismounting neatly.

04. wildcard

want something else? find cam anywhere in town or on the way! if you want to plot with me, i'm over at plurk at

wingedvoices.

[OOC: OTA! I rolled a d20 for her to try again on the bull and got 19 vs her first 9, hence the spectacular second try. :P when she is sober and not in the saloon she will probably be incredibly embarrassed, but you know what, it's been a long day. you can absolutely use that as a wildcard situation though!]

( 1. a little lost (earlier) )

[ Waking up in the desert when you have no idea what a desert even is is already one thing. One problem, one might say. The lack of water, the scorching sun, the kind-of-ominous vultures? Also all problems. Not being able to remember much of anything? Probably the biggest problem of all.

One might think that, under these circumstances, a person would be glad to spot another person after what feels like an eternity. Maybe hoping said other person has some water, or that said other person actually knows where they are.

If you are said other person, however, you might spot the white-haired girl wandering the desert by herself. She clearly does spot you, judging by how her eyes grow to about the size of teacups in surprise the moment she looks at you. But rather than approaching you, the girl does something else entirely.

She turns heel and looks like she's trying her darnest to run away from you as soon as possible..

.. only to immediately fall face-first into the sand after two steps with a yelp.

(Clearly someone isn't used to cowboy boots.)

Maybe help her? Ask what's up with that attempt to flee? Please don't abandon her in the desert. ]

( 2. a little lost (later) )

[ Navigating the desert certainly is not Olympia's strong suit. It doesn't help that her mind is very distracted with the many questions she has about this situation, and the dehydratation and disorientation are also not contributors to getting to town safely in the slightest.

It means that, even if you ran into Olympia in the desert and you're now both traveling through the sand together, you might just not reach the town in time. The sun is lowering in the sky, further and further, and it's like there's suddenly more cacti around.

Perhaps that's not too odd - Olympia sure isn't questioning it, instead seeming to focus on just continuing to walk the best she can - until.. you know. They start moving.

It's something the girl notices too, and no matter whether you have or haven't been able to provide her with some answers so far, she will look to you for those right now anyway. Because she's staring over at you with big, worried eyes, asking: ]

A-- Are they supposed to move?

[ She knows nothing, okay! Please tell her you know something. ]

( 3. face your fears )

[ Maybe you were just trying to enjoy a meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, whichever-- there's no judgement here on what time you pick to have your meal of choice.

It's what Olympia was trying to do too, after all. One moment the dining room at the hotel is quiet, maybe with some people talking, most people just trying to eat their food.. And the next moment the white-haired girl is suddenly rising from the spot she was sitting with a strange intensity, her stool sliding backwards with the sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard.

The next moment she's shaking her head, shouting loudly: ]

I.. I'm not!

[ Maybe you turn your head to look, check to see what's going on - but it very much looks like the girl is staring in horror at nothing at all. And yet she's taking a few steps backwards all the same, like she's trying to flee something-- even if it means she's heading right for that stool that's still standing behind her, probably about to trip over it without realising.

This is your chance to be a hero. Or-- you know, your chance to watch her fall. Maybe it'll be funny. ]

The Bull

"Oh no, I'm not doing it."

The skinny man with outlandishly purple hair watched the antics with the 'bull' from the bar, a stubborn frown on his face while he tried to ignore the voice in his ear that egged him on.

'But come on, Boims! You're not going to just take the back seat in your own life, are you?'

It was a voice that only he heard-- annoying, challenging, but familiar in a way that endless sky above the town was to him. If he reached, he almost could touch it....

Instead, he doubled down and sipped loudly on his tequila and soda, feeling unsettled and restless by the lack of a list of things that needed to be done.

"I'm ignoring you--" he said, louder as the voice continued to taunt him. "I'm just going to sit here, drink my soda, and try not to think too much about all of this."

But his words were just noise, as his thoughts were already spinning as fast as the stars must surely be in the skies above.

Face your fears

It was indeed pancakes that were interrupted. Pancakes and juice and a few slices of orange that he had ordered that morning in order to start the day off right-- with carbs and vitamin C, not a healthy dose of Existentialism.

The sun had barely risen, but all Brad could see was a blinding darkness all around him, devoid of light and the warmth of another friendly presence.

He held fast to his plate of pancakes while he tried to search the area for some sort of clue. The warm aroma of the maple syrup quickly grew foul as the plate grew cold in his hand.

"Um... Hello?" Boimler called, his voice reedy with worry. "This isn't funny, guys. I came here for pancakes, not--"

Something cold hit his hand -- and Boimler dropped the plate with a startled shriek. The clattering of broken glass and the wet feeling of cold liquid splattering on his leg earned yet another shriek.

Adrenaline pumping, Boimler turned to flee. "Oh, forget this. I'm outta--"

But the sentence never finished; he ran smack into an unseen wall instead, and promptly passed out.

Wildcard!

Hit me up on Plurk at

woodrift for questions and plotting.

Lost
[ it's fucking sweltering. any other thought is impossible to hold onto as keith trudges through the unforgiving desert. taking the black stetson off his head and using it as the world's most inefficient fan provides little relief. combing fingers through sweat-dampened curls, keith grimaces. this is dangerous. people die of heatstroke and dehydration, yeah?

he's lost track of time and the unchanging terrain is messing with his sense of direction. out of sheer desperation, keith sucks in a deep breath and shouts: ]

Is anyone out there?! Do you see a shack? Helloooo?

Bull Rider
[ so it's entirely plausible that keith bit off a bit more than he can chew when he got on this mechanical bull. but despite being relatively short for his age, he's deceptively strong. he grabs the horns and clings like a barnacle, laughing as he eyes up the watching crowd.

and really, keith can't help himself. the thrill of the challenge is like a jab of amphetamines and on the next buck, he gives the mechanical bull a slap on the ass, as if to encourage it to go harder, faster ... which is of course, how he gets thrown off and launched into the crowd.

so whether he crashes or gets caught by you? keith simply flashes a cheeky grin and is entirely unapologetic. ]

Heh. Almost had it. [ and in afterthought: ] Hi.

Edited 2023-07-24 02:54 (UTC)

a. a little lost

[ yang isn't sure of a lot of things right now. her home, her loved ones.... all of them are worrying blank spots in her memory. or she would be more worried if the sun wasn't baking any moody contemplation on the issue right out of her brain. at least the mystery desert was kind enough to grant her a wide-brimmed hat that blocks a fraction of the heat.

she squints into the distance looking for any thing that can hold a conversation. even a tumbleweed would be good company right about now. however, that dark spot on the horizon is vaguely shaped like something even better--a person! she sprints toward them at top speed, grinning from ear to ear. ]

Think I made a wrong turn back at that third sand dune, [ yang chirps. ] Have any clue where the nearest oasis is? One that isn't just wavy lines preferred, but I'm not gonna be picky.

b. bull riding

[ her eyes are glued to the mechanical bull from the second she walks in to the saloon. it's loud. it's unwieldy. it's dangerous.

yang loves it.

she sits at the bar watching attempt after attempt, knee bouncing with impatience all the while. ]

There's no catch to this, right? [ yang asks the person next to her. ] Just stay on as long as you can? That doesn't seem so tough.

[ said as yet another person is flung to the floor with a nasty-sounding thud. ]

c. wildcard

[ want to do something different? no problem. just DM this journal and we can talk it out. ]

I. LOST

[She doesn't know when she started walking. Maybe days. Maybe weeks. Maybe a few centuries. The distinction doesn't matter, really, she's not sure why it would. The only thing on her mind is... is...

Well, there's something she should be thinking about, she's quite certain of that. Something she's forgetting in this bleached landscape of sand and heat. There's been nobody for so long, she's started wondering if she might be the last person on this Earth.

So when she sees another, her eyes widen in surprise, recognition, and clarity. This is reality, as close to reality as it really matters, and the vultures are circling, looking to feast on the flesh off her bones.]

I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of civilization? The desert does not quite agree with me, I'm afraid.

[She speaks in a rather exaggerated fancy turn of phrase, like she's trying to put forward the image high class lady. Except her grammar is pretty bad and she has a noticable lisp, so it's mostly just adorable.]

II. Fear

[She was getting her bearings, going for a walk, when it all... well, transformed. The ivory lined walls of a place she doesn't recognize, crowded on all ends by people walking next to her, all in the same identical uniform, and none of them even spare her a glance.]

What in the... hello?!

[And they... push her. Push through her, walking over her, as if she weren't there.]

Excuse me! I'm - [Another shove. This time someone looks at her, just to display open disgust. She's about to get angry, about to scream at them, but her mouth has been sewed shut so how could she? She looks forward, for help, and only one person is looking at her, with the expression of someone looking at their old doll and finding it's very existence an embarassing reminder of a past she left behind.]

Go to class now, Satoko. I don't want to play with you right now.

[The face... it's of someone she knows really quite well. And the eyes turn away from her, to her new dolls, interchangable faces who never mattered in the slightest, and all Satoko can do is mindlessly walk amongst a sea of meaningless set-pieces.

Of course, in the real world, she's on her hands and knees screaming one word.]

RIIIIIKAAAAA!!!!!

III. THE BULL

[She wants to ride. Why? She can't bring herself to care right now. All she knows is that she wants it more than anything in the world.

She stands amidst the salloon, her arms crossed as she watches it skeptically, analyzing. There's no sense in rushing. She will turn her victory into a certainty.

Although, if anyone's close enough to approach her, she will turn to them, the intensity of her expression lesssened considerably and replaced with a mischevious grin.]

Ah, do you plan on riding the bull, by chance?

IV. WILDCARD

[Have a different idea? Contact me either on this journal or on plurk at

ectoplasmfear and we can discuss. Or alternatively just drop one below and I'll adapt.]

A Little Lost

It’s not the temperature that gets Ilphyl first. It is taking eyes adapted to seeing my luminescent fungus and starlight, and exposing them to noonday sun with zero shade and sand that reflects the light back up.

Cue a figure trying to draw down their hat, while delivering a long string of curse words directed at the sun, the surface, and their circumstances in general. Ilphyl hasn’t stopped to reflect that they don’t remember much, including the cultural context for most of their cursing. Or that they do remember a few tricks that would help travel through a hostile environment. Maybe once they are no longer in pain, even if it means blindfolding themselves and waiting for the sun to go down and travel in easier conditions than this nonsense.

They don’t know that unless they actually find someone, they will be waiting quite a bit. Or that travel at night has its own pitfalls.

Their hearing is still easily enough to pick out if anyone approaches, and they turn their head to face them, despite not being able to see shit. “All right, you are definitely not a vulture.”

Bullrider
Ilphyl is a career adventurer, and technically not yet at the age elves are considered 'adults'. It doesn’t actually take much mental prompting to line up, just the awareness that something is going on and that they want to be part of it. They approach to the rope, watching while bouncing a bit on their toes, waiting for whatever poor sap that is trying the bull now to go flinging off. They grin if someone else approaches them. “Check this out!”

It doesn’t even feel like they need to win, they just want to try. Maybe show off a bit. Maybe learn if this is something they actually know how to do, or if this is a new experience.

i. general store | ota

[ Julie fought with cacti to get out of the desert with Frank, she dragged herself through town until they found the hotel, and like any teenager would reasonably do, she slipped into the General Store with the intent to stuff her shirt with goods and sneak back to the hotel room she's staying in. When you find her, she's shaking with anger at the counter of the store, fist raised at the cashier, things still bundled under her shirt. ]

I said I'm taking it. You're not charging me! I'll steal it if I want to fucking steal it!

ii. hanging out at the staywell | ota

[ The vibes of Wellstone suck. The air sucks, the heat sucks, the food sucks. Around noon, Julie can be found on the roof of the Staywell. She's wearing the closest thing she could find to jeans and a dark button-up she had ripped the sleeves off of. Julie's legs are dangling off the edge, boots crossed and bouncing gently against the stone. Her light hair is pulled back behind a bandana to keep it from falling in her face as she pulls intentional strokes across a page of the notebook in her lap.

You might look up to catch her watching you from her perch. She looks exhausted, but she offers you a tiny smile. ]

iii. stardust... murders? | ota 3-way prompt with

drop_out | cw: blood/npc harm

[ Or maybe you come across Julie late at night, when the sky is pitched black and you walk into the Stardust 24/7 Diner.

Immediately upon entering, you'll notice a few things. Depending on your temperament, these things might be increasingly alarming: (1) there are two teenagers in a booth towards the back of the diner enjoying milkshakes; (2) the jukebox sputters a mournful, broken syllable of Jolene occasionally; (3) a booth on the opposite side of the diner is covered in blood splatters as if something imploded; and (4) the waiter is leaned over the booth the teenagers are currently occupying with his hand pinned to the table with a fork.

The girl, a seventeen-year-old blonde with a side shave, is slid sideways in the booth, boots propped up on the cracked pleather seat. Her hands have blood on them; a finger casually runs over the side of her milkshake mug, collecting the condensation.

When the door opens, Julie will look over her shoulder at you. Her eyes catching the light oddly. She smiles at you. ]

Oh, sorry. Did you want to order something?

I: A LITTLE LOST, A LITTLE LATE

[It's late at night in Wellstone. The sky looms large, and the buildings' silhouettes stand like hungry giants. The wind blows, softly, quietly, dangerously, in the outskirts just outside of its bounds.

It's dark here. You just might be eaten by a ~~grue~~ cactus.

Suddenly, something taps you on the shoulder. If you turn around, you'll find yourself face to face with the dull-green flesh of a cactus.

You might also hear muffled snickering.]

II: LISTLESS DELINQUENT

[Those leaving their rooms early in the morning, or otherwise passing through the lobby, might encounter a fantastically lackadaisical looking individual. On a chair, lounging, he stares at you with eyes a blue so electric it's uncomfortable.]

Hey. [There's some gravel in his throat. His voice is rough, but his delivery is smooth.] You a regular here?

III: (BULL)RIDERS ON THE STORM
This is a three player prompt! Julie Kostenko (

sus_pended) is also here!

[Naturally, commotion abounds around the bull. Currently, though, there's one punk riding it who's been on it for... really, a shocking amount of time. Easily over a minute already.

This is not Frank Morrison. It's a girl with a very punk aesthetic, who is absolutely destroying that bull. Frank Morrison is off to the side, cheering the whole time. Like, he's really into it. He's cheering like this is the biggest event of the century.

By the time the girl (Jules, as Frank's cheers inform everyone) is done, Frank has made his way next to you.]

Bet you can't beat that, huh?

[The especially keen eyed might notice a loop of rope poking just out of Julie's sleeve. They might notice one poking out of Frank's, too.]

IV: WILD CARD
[If you have something else in mind, shoot! Or, message me so that we can figure something out!]

[ blanket warning for signalis spoilers, even if elster doesn't really remember much for obvious reasons. ]

KAPITEL I: a little lost

[ ｗａｋｅｕｐ． ]

[ her systems jumpstart, and elster finds herself in a flat, deserted expanse. that, itself, strikes some vague, familiar note that feels beyond her reach. diagnostics are all nominal, for the moment, so... one thing at a time, she supposes. elster's traction on this terrain isn't... ideal, though, she quickly realizes. the small, tapered ends of her legs sink awkwardly into the sand on each step, slowing her down further as the vultures circle overhead. she's not sure what they are, but they can't be anything good.

the worst of the glare is stopped by the broad, black hat she's wearing, and the poncho is doing wonders to keep her core chassis cool, at least. still, she looks at her own gloved hands, seeing the black leather flex, examining the ornate stitching... and then, in the corner of her visual range, she spots another wanderer. with a grunt, she changes directions slightly to attempt to intercept the other person. the surreality of walking through a frozen moment is beginning to pass, she thinks. ]

Excuse me? [ the words are half-musical, tinged with a german accent. ] Do you know where we are?

KAPITEL II: face your fears
cw: war, PTSD, isolation, death, eye trauma

[ eventually, she's made her way to town, and the decaying buildings ~~call to mind a destroyed landscape~~ are far from welcoming, though the few better-maintained places across the sand ~~the crumbling glass and steel enveloped by irradiated seas~~ are more promising in terms of finding other people.

it might be that day. it might be a day or two after her arrival. it might be in the cactus pad over a drink, or in casual conversation over breakfast at the staywell, but elster is suddenly distant.

maybe the world is fading into blackened, enclosed corridors, a home made into a tomb. maybe she's alone, with nothing but fear and loss and an undefinable thought that makes her head pound, oxidant spilling from her nose, and the knowledge she's going to die in this place but first there's something she needs to do; maybe there's a weight she's carried around her neck for so long, she has a promise to keep to ~~ariane~~ and she can do it if she can just ＷＡＫＥＵＰ—

maybe she's on a dying ocean world as nuclear fire spreads across the horizon, and a woman who once meant the world to her, someone else, is dying in her arms, her eye is gone, she and ~~alina~~ can get out of this and keep their promise, she's sure of it even as the explosions edge closer but she won't wake up wake up ＷＡＫＥＵＰ—

either way, in reality her eyes widen in terror and the electronic light in them goes dark, servos whirring uncomfortably, drives stalling and fragmenting as her body folds on itself in panic. ]

KAPITEL III: wildcard/contact
[ go for it! or feel free to PM this journal or hit me up on plurk @ clockworkbrain to request alternate prompts. i'll probably toss a bullrider option up in a separate comment once i see how the dice go. ]

Edited 2023-08-29 04:47 (UTC)

A little lost
[The young man is lying in the sand, limbs sprawled dramatically. He hasn't moved for quite a while, though occasionally he can be heard moaning something like this is it, I'm gonna die, woe is me. It's... pretty unconvincing, honestly, but one of the vultures still lands next to the body. Hamel cracks one eye open, glancing at the bird.]

That's riiiight, just a little closer, come get my juicy eyeballs. I'm definitely too weak to break your stupid bird neck -

[When he notices another wanderer, he lifts his head ever so slightly to hiss:]

Oi, back off! I called dibs on the bird.

Wandering around
[Sure, he barely remembers anything and this town is a dump, but at least the food and boarding are free. Hamel spends some time exploring the town, gorging himself on pancakes or prodding at the Cactus Pad piano. He does remember music - he's good at it, can do so much better than this wound-up thing or the repetitive jukebox.

The scarce employees are fun to mess with at first. Hamel quite enjoys hurling obscenities at them without retribution other than the same lines, and even goes as far as poking and pinching them. There's only so much fun to be had when people don't react, though, and he gets bored soon enough. Eventually he leaves a message on the bulletin board, written in large bold letters:

EXPLANATIONS NEEDED
THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS PLACE
- HAMEL (HANDSOME BLOND IN THE DINING HALL)

The handsome blond in question is indeed in the dining hall, working his way through a comically large stack of sandwiches.]

Face your fears (CW: blood, violence)
[One moment, the street is empty. The other, it's full of corpses. There are hundreds of them, all look like they were torn apart by a monstrous animal - except it wasn't an animal, it was Hamel. He doesn't remember killing them, but he must have done it, because his hands are suddenly clawed and covered in blood up to the elbows. He can taste it too, an awful metallic taste and something else, burnt like, like -

He screams, instinctively lashing out at the first person to pass by.]

No - GO AWAY -

A little lost
Even knowing he can't be sure about anything, Darlington can't shake the feeling he's been somewhere hotter than this.

The sun beats down, relentless enough to make him as glad of the wide brim of his hat as he is of the tough leather of his boots. His feet sink into the sand, but he keeps walking, pushing himself forward towards whatever unknown awaits. It would be better if he could see some progress, some sign of anything at all--beyond cacti and a smattering of rock formations in the far distance, that is. Still, he walks. There has to be something, some shelter, a little further along.

After what feels like another hour, he stops again, face flushed, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck with a bandanna he can't remember shoving in a pocket. It's the least of the gaps, though, a thought he doesn't take time to examine too closely yet. Wherever he's heading can't be much further; he can take the question of his presence here up again once he gets there.

For now, there's just the walk, and the heat, and the sand.

Face your fears
That there's a small room under his name at the Staywell is another mystery, but a welcome one for right now. Darlington washes the desert grit away and changes; his provided wardrobe is no different from the clothes he'd stumbled through the desert in, their style not quite what he thinks he'd have chosen for himself, but at least they're clean. The long, dark coat he finds on a hook by the door fits well enough, though, and he pulls it on and makes his way downstairs, dropping his room key in a pocket.

He's in the lobby by the time the soft tink of metal on glass registers, and outside when he notices the subtle shift in weight at his side. Slowly, he reaches in, fingertips brushing his keys at first--and then the smoother, cooler surface of something else. At first blush, it doesn't look like much: a glass vial, sealed and stoppered, the liquid within a rich gold. He studies it, turning the vial in his fingers, brow furrowed even as he handles it with a reverence that feels instinctive. Instinctive, too, is the way he smoothly breaks the seal and thumbs the cork out, tipping it back and swallowing the stuff within.

Darlington feels himself brace for something--a spike, a chill, the sudden agony of sidling up to something unknown. Something should happen, but he swallows it like only so much water, only something plain and uninspired, utterly mundane. "That's not..." he murmurs, and reaches for his pocket again.

Another vial, and it's just the same. He doesn't know where they come from, how they keep appearing out of pockets that are only so deep, only so full. He opens each, swallows each, his heart pounding and his hands beginning to shake. Even when the stuff inside changes from gold to thick, tarlike black, the foul smell of it lancing through the growing tension in his gut, he only hesitates briefly before swallowing it down too.

That time, Danny expects it to hurt, expects blood and doesn't know why--but it's the same as all the others. Like nothing. Like a door closing tight, locking itself, an unbreachable barrier with him left standing on the wrong side.

"No," he says, as the empty vial sits in his hand, as more of them scatter the dirt around his feet. "That's not...it's not supposed to be like this."

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