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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2017 19:51:13 GMT -5
some disclaimers. this was designed to be incredibly vague. let your imagination and muse flow as you interpret this starter for yourself. thought it could be uniquely fun to build a world with someone. this will involve a lot of plotting, creative thought, and original ideas. I don't want this to be conventional--I cannot stress this enough. I'm only looking for one advanced/literate partner for this sort of jump-in roleplay. I'm pretty picky; terrible partners leech my muse away. look through my past roleplay posts and make a good decision on whether or not your ability more or less matches mine (preferably the former), and if this is a good idea for you to claim. only rules I have are to write good quality, sometimes lengthy posts, and let me know if you'll be gone for a while. on that subject, I'm not terribly active myself, so I won't make any kind of activity rules. read it all? good. let's see where this goes.
the room is dark. ...
awake.
The man lurched back to life, drawing a single deep, desperate breath as if he'd been submerged underwater for just too long. No concrete details came to him for a while about anything--it felt like centuries until he could even form a thought out of the buzzing blankness of his mind. He sat quietly in his corner, completely still, the only exception being the frantic, ragged breaths he drew in. When he exhaled, his vital warmth left him in swirling puffs of smoke, that turned and meandered idly, undisturbed, untouched by the grief of this world for a couple blissful moments before vanishing into the air.
All he could tell at that point was that something was wrong. It was his first thought, actually. This isn't right. His body felt inexplicably weighed down by something he didn't have the strength to move, but nothing other than the clothes on his back had him pinned to whatever floor he was on. It took nearly all his effort to crack both eyes open, and for a long time, he could only dream of twitching a finger or shifting a leg. All of it would have scared him, but he didn't have the strength to pull a feeling that strong out of his head just yet.
So he waited.
head throbbing. vision blurry.
Pain slowly came to him, in that same deliberate way a puddle forms out of a pipe that leaks one drop at a time. He couldn't see more than a couple feet in front of him; everything just past the boots he wore was hopelessly blurred. Black specks danced on the edge of his vision. For whatever reason, dry as his mouth was, he could taste that unmistakable sharpness and tang of blood, and it left him with a hot, revolting taste. Worst part was, he couldn't make any sense of it; he couldn't think any further past his time in the room, however brief or however many years it was. He couldn't tell.
The first thing he felt once he stirred just the slightest bit was alarm: when he lifted his head and shifted his back from its snug position against the wall, a nearly blinding pain overcame him. His vision went completely white for a short time, and if he cried out, he couldn't hear it--like a silent bomb had gone off, completely disorienting him. What was that from? In his panic, the man reached over to where he thought the source of that immense pain was--somewhere to his left, roughly--and fumbled around the tattered, rough material of his clothing, searching for something, anything. When he drew his hand back and his vision cleared, his fingers were warm and stained red.
When he found the resolve to fight the pain that arose whenever he turned his head, the man grit his teeth, set his jaw, and shifted it to look at whatever it was he'd found. The scene he found evoked his second notable emotion: terror. His eyes rested on a bloody, mangled mess of torn skin and fabric, all haphazardly covered by some kind of cloth. It made his chest seize up and his throat closed, and all he could do was gape at it. There was no doubting that it was his own arm, since one of the first things he did was trace up the line of his mutilated forearm to the curve of his elbow, all the way up until he found himself staring at his shoulder.
Worst part of it was, the picture gave him no answers. Nothing. The man couldn't tell for the life of him who or what did this, or if it was his own doing, or any kind of background information at all. All he could do was stare wide-eyed in disbelief at his own body and what it came to, hoping that he could glean the smallest piece of closure. Staring at it like he would a cross or a string of beads or a thin page in a holy book--all useless now.
the room is freezing.
His breaths left him quicker now. They were shallower than before, demanded less effort than the ones from earlier. It then occurred to him after some time that whatever space he was in was terribly, bitterly cold. Perhaps that was a part of why moving required so much of him--every joint, muscle, and fiber inside was chilled stiff, so any twitch or bend or break felt like moving a mountain. Every motion fought him valiantly, but after some time, the man finally did manage to sit up a little straighter from where he had woken up from.
The bloody arm wasn't bleeding much, due to the cold, probably. Or, maybe it had been like that for hours already, and some of the cold he was feeling was from blood loss; a dark stain in the wood where it had been resting at his side before he drew it protectively into his lap suggested that. But, there was no denying the truths in the clouds of vapor he exhaled with every breath. A sort of clarity settled over him. I need to get warm, or else I am going to die.
light fire.
Then, almost as if that particular thought was a switch, the man caught sight of a curiously specific-looking shape across from him in this small space: a pile of wood, no doubt, chopped and arranged in one of those stacked pyramids. Next to it, a smaller box--matches. His heart leaped with hope at the sight of them, and he chose not to think about anything else other than his one twist of good luck. Wherever it was that he landed would give him some means to support himself while he tried to figure out this mess. He was so grateful that he almost said a prayer, to no one in particular.
It took him a long time to both get across the room, small as it was, to the little cache of supplies--every big movement was agony--and then to arrange them into a useful pile. He found a space of dirt and probably ashes in the center of the floor, separating the wood from the floor beneath it, and he thought it smart, since the last thing he wanted to do was to burn down his only shelter. Lighting that match was painstaking too, given his condition; the man had to resort to holding the matchbox between his teeth, then striking the thing with his good arm too close to his face for comfort. It finally lit after several tries; the box was damp.
Then he dropped the burning match into the woodpile and huddled next to it.
the light from the fire spills from the windows, out into the dark.
Finally, a comforting light, radiating warmth. The man felt strangely optimistic as the world came to life around him, as if a blindfold had been taken off with the arrival of a light to see with. The room he was in was more reminiscent of some tiny, ancient log cabin than anything else, with only four walls, a door, a door handle, and two square panes of glass as windows. It was modest, but all he needed. Even though he was exhausted and the gentle warmth and dull yellow-orange lighting called him to sleep soundly, the man didn't like the idea of leaving the fire unattended.
Then, for the first time, he lifted his eyes to one of the windows. I don't know what's out there. The thought settled heavy on his shoulders and filled him with a vague sense of dread. There could be nothing, but there just as easily could be anything. His arm throbbed almost in response to that thought, and he couldn't help but wonder if something outside in that darkness, man or beast, was to blame for this. There was no way to know for sure unless he went out there to see for himself, but he knew that could very well be suicide in his current state. It was something he would eventually have to do, but not now. Not for a while.
the room is cold.
Despite the baby flame, the outskirts of the room--the very walls and dark corners--still carried a chill. It would be a while until the whole small space heated up to a comfortable temperature. If he really wanted to do that now, the man would have to use almost all his wood, but he didn't want to waste it; he didn't know how long it would be until he could go scavenge for supplies, wherever it was that he was, and he didn't want to force himself outdoors before he was ready.
.. and then, a stranger stumbles inside.
this is where you come in.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2017 23:02:41 GMT -5
someone? anyone? c'mon, kiddos :'^)
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Post by willowflower on Jul 29, 2017 23:27:20 GMT -5
((hiya! i'm currently writing up a starter to jump in with, though it's taking quite a bit of time ^.^'' in the meantime just wanted to let you know someone's noticed and is super intrigued and in love with your writing style))
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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2017 23:41:44 GMT -5
I've attracted two of you?? what kind of witchcraft is this since you've both started, we'll just sort of roll with both? I feel bad turning either of you away, honestly. a group of three could be cool?
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Bisexual
Lea
Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Jul 29, 2017 23:49:37 GMT -5
white hot.
despite the snow covering the ground, the flakes falling from the dark, starless sky, there was nothing but heat. He felt it along his brow, it was hot and painful – like a deep fever. He stumbled forward into the snow, his knees hitting first, and then his hands. It was almost as though he couldn’t feel the cold from the snow.
he raised his head, looking at the trees in front of him, their branches hanging low, as if there to give him support. That is, if he chose to rise again. Inhaling deeply, his vision blurred, the pain shooting through his ribs causing him to lurch forward. He dry heaved, hurting his ribs more, before he crumpled.
burning.
the fever like heat creeping across his brow seemed to melt away as his head hit the snow and now he felt a new sensation. It was a cold sensation, but a burning one, and he fought back a scream. He had no clue where he was or who could hear him, he didn’t know if he was safe, all he knew was the pain in his ribs and the fever that seemed to be fading into the snow.
from his place, crumpled in the snow, he moved a shaky hand to his rib cage, feeling for what was causing the pain. What he found was a blood soaked bandage, he couldn’t recall where it had come from. Did I say blood soaked? It wasn’t blood soaked, no he had misunderstood what he felt. His bandages were wet, and when he moved his head to look down they were also read, but they weren’t wet from blood, no they were wet from sweat. How?
he pushed himself up.
there was no time to figure out what was the cause of this sweat. No, he needed shelter. Ignoring the piercing pain through his rib cage he put his hands out flat on the ground and pushed up, appearing to look like a push up. Next, he rose back to his knees, and with all the force he could muster, he was on his feet.
lurching forward he stumbled into the branches that were in front of him. They were thin, but somehow managed to withstand his weight. He stumbled from tree to tree, silently screaming with each step. Each step caused his vision to blur and his breathing to quicken, but he gave himself a few moments with each movement so at least he had an idea of where he was going.
the trees were beginning to thin out and he was making more and more progress without the support of the trees, but he was still stumbling and barely holding onto his balance. He reached forward toward a tree, but he missed and fell right back into the snow. Now he had determination, however, for he had spotted a small cabin he had not seen before. He pushed himself to his feet again, his hopes raising as the small light coming from the cabin flickered. If there was someone in there, then maybe – just maybe – they could help him figure out where he was – and maybe where the heck he was going because he certainly didn’t know.
just a few more steps.
he had no idea how he had made it this far without falling into the snow and drifting into unconsciousness – and eventually death. No matter how he had made it this far, however, he was here and he was a mere inches away from this- he stumbled into the cabin, and used the outside walls to make it to a door, in which he raised his fists to knock on the door, however his hand slammed onto the handle, and as his weight was upon it as well, the door unlatched and he stumbled in, falling back to his hands and knees. He raised his head to look at the occupant, he opened his mouth to speak, but instead, he just groaned and crumpled, again.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2017 0:11:13 GMT -5
we'll figure it out. a really small group setting could be fun, actually. what should I call you, by the way? also, I'm going to wait for Willow's starter before I reply to you--and before we discuss possible plots, backstories, and begin building this world. god, I am so, so excited for this.
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Post by willowflower on Jul 30, 2017 0:40:02 GMT -5
((here, sorry it took so long! i got inspired halfway through ^.^'' let me know if this meets up to your standards! the tone's a bit different bc of the character i used, hope that's ok.))
man, his chest hurt.
At this point his vision is like an endless runner game, tall dark trees flashing in his periphery as he tumbled by, constantly on the verge of tripping over the next root or rock uncaught by the dimming light of his flashlight. The cold air raked his throat as he tried to pump his lungs with as much of it as he could, catching glimpses of his desperate breaths streaming into the night. He was terribly hot and sweaty under his jacket from running, but his hand was numb with the night's chill.
yep yep yep, gonna die tonight.
He almost wanted to laugh, fill the air with the hysterical shrieks. This was not how he imagined this night going. He had been crashing at his stepsister's place (again) when he, sitting upside-down on the couch with his legs where his head should be, read on his phone that another someone went missing. Just disappeared, went poof! Loved ones were scrambling and panicking and spitting paranoid accusations like they're fact. That horrible Kaipa Forest is cursed! they had argued, protested, screamed. They should've bound it up, locked it tight with barbed wire and the lot! Like, it was probably true, but still, it was the fool's fault for wandering into the darn place with such a stigma attached to its name, he figured.
("Don't go into the Kaipa Forest," said his mom years ago, carefully roasting what looked like a chicken bone with the cooking torch.
"Why not?" he had said, because driving adults insane with that question was his favorite past time.
"Because it's dangerous. Obviously."
"Sounds like fun."
At that, his mom turned off the flame and lifted her eye mask, meeting his eyes sternly. That's when he knew she was getting serious - her face, deadpan as ever, didn't really say much, after all.
"I'm serious," she said.
"I know."
"That place manifests your worst fears and dreams," she said. "It's been hurt too many times. Now it wants to hurt you back."
He had pondered this, thought it over, and asked, "Is the forest a person?"
His mom shrugged. "It might as well be." With that she snapped her goggles back on and returned to her experiment.) oh, so doomed. Even the trees seemed to be closing in, snow somehow finding a way to crawl into his boots. His backpack slammed into his back repeatedly, and since he only had one hand that he was using to hold the flashlight he couldn't exactly cling to the straps. Which would've been nice. Too bad the universe hates him. After a good long minute of more frantic sprinting, he slowly realized that he was burning out. No! No! he thought frantically as he charged forward, but every step felt like the ground was slamming into his feet, turning his legs to jelly, his throat aching and his lungs burning. His gasps and heavy steps filled the silence, until, finally, he slowed. And in doing so, he realized something. He wasn't being chased anymore. He froze, listening hard. Nothing. The silence was almost just as scary as something popping up out of nowhere like a tacky jumpscare. Maybe he had knocked whatever-it-was out with his tripod on the first try? Nice. He had been aiming for the eyes. He crumpled to the ground, leaning up against a tree as he stretched his legs out, panting. The cold was seeping into his pants, but he didn't care. He didn't think his fatigued legs could hold him up any longer. He moved them a bit to keep them from cramping after halting his run so suddenly and dug through his backpack, holding the flashlight in his teeth. When he found what he was looking for, he held them up triumphantly, then remembered no one else was there except for him. Shrugging, he tucked the pack between his shoulder and his ear to hold it as he drew out a cigarette, then grabbed it with the rest of his fingers to drop it into his backpack. Then, the flashlight was carefully set between his thighs to point upwards so that he could freely drag out his lighter and flick it on. The tip of the cigarette burned red. When he threw the lighter back into his backpack he grabbed his cigarette so that he could release the smoke into the air. It was probably a bad idea. But he didn't care. He hasn't had a drag for too long, and such a situation called for some relaxation and an alert mind that nicotine so kindly provides. As he slouched against the tree, listening to the creepy quiet, he contemplated the meaning of life cursed himself. Why was he here? ("Dude, it'd be such a great scoop," Kat had rambled as he squinted at the short wooden post marking the entrance to the woods, kneeling down to take a picture. "Can you imagine? 'Man-eating Forest?' The net will go nuts!"
"I know right," he had said, backing up a bit and angling the camera up to take a good shot of the towering trees. "You know, a long time ago my mom actually said that because mankind hurt the forest so much the forest wants to hurt us back."
"Seriously? Was she an environmental nut?"
"Uh, no dissing on those who care about the environment," he said, flicking her in the forehead. "But actually I have no idea if she gave a s***. I mean she worked as a chemicalist maker person who probably made stuff that got dumped into forests, so."
"'Chemicalist maker person?' Wow, the eloquence."
"Shut up. And thank you." "The times you put in something ridiculous like that instead of actually looking up the word. You drive Eloise nuts, you know." "She loves me on the inside." Then, in the midst of their banter, came a strange sound. Something soft, but clear. Etherial, almost. Like the clear ring of a bell, or the voice of the most angelic choir. And it came from the Kaipa Forest. Kat was nudging him so hard he swears his ribs will grow bruises. "Hey, hey, you hear that?!" "Shh, shut up!" Ari scrambled with his camera and, with a quick switch of the settings, he was recording. The sound ended after several more seconds. He and Kat stood there in awe for a few more. "Dude," Kat whispered in his ear. "Get in there." "F*** yeah," he whispered back.) what a fool. Finally, he stood up. He didn't want to, of course, but sitting around wasn't going to do anything for his poor now-cold behind. Brushing the snow off his backpack, he started to trudge, hoping his flashlight doesn't die on him. He really had no idea what he was doing - practically, he should be setting up camp or something, since it was already dark, but he still held on to the hope that he could somehow find his way out of there. Stupid mystic forest.
Somehow, the universe decided to be a little more kind to him, and quite literally a light shone in the distance. At first he blinked, stunned, before charging forward, heart pounding. Please please please please -
A cabin. A friggin' cabin in the middle of the Kaipa Forest. Was he going nuts? Had the forest starting eating his brain? But no, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there's a cabin squatting in the snow, some fire inside softly glowing, the light shining through the windows.
He didn't care who he was going to meet. Marching right up to the front door, he had planned to twist the knob so hard it breaks and storm in to take comfort in the shelter, only to come upon some other guy passed out on the floor. He stared. Then looked up at another person huddled next to the fire. Uh.
"I'm guessing he's not usually like this," he said, nudging the collapsed person with his foot.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2017 1:13:46 GMT -5
an unexpected visitor.
Unlike earlier, when the world around him seemed to be moving at the unhurried pace of a leaning glacier, it seemed as if he had barely spent more than a minute or two appreciating the soft warmth of the fire when he heard the unmistakable crunching of snow underfoot--just outside the thin wooden walls of the cabin. The man straightened, stiffening, and turned to gaze out of the window closest to the direction that he'd heard the sound. Without necessarily meaning to, his good hand moved to an object he was now aware that pressed too close to his body, dangerously so, and traced the outline of a knife through his trousers.
How had he known it was there? It bothered him, but not in the context of the moment. There were many unanswered questions, and, frankly, getting to answering them was the last of his worries at the moment.
It so turned out, he had been watching for movement in the wrong window; a moment later, the man was completely taken by surprise when another stranger burst through the cabin door. He couldn't help but make a startled noise at all of it--the suddenness of it all, the just as disheveled state of the stranger, and the dark red seeping through gauze and bandages around his chest. He found himself in a defensive stance, reeling back, eyes wide and fearful, hand hovering protectively over the blade tucked just inside, ready at a moment's notice.
questions endless, like beach sands.
Whoever this man was brought a host of questions with him. Who was he? Why was he hurt--and, was it the same source that had injured him? The man swallowed, watching the man's form rise and fall with each haggard breath. Had it been a mistake to light the fire? He knew that only time would tell, but it didn't settle well in his stomach. It felt light, empty, but not hungry--just vaguely unwell, thoroughly unsettled.
He finally opened his dry mouth to speak, and felt his chapped lips split and sting at the movement. "Who are you?" His voice sounded strange to him; not human, somehow, but low, gruff, and gravelly. Not his own, and yet, he couldn't describe how his usual voice sounded for the life of him. It then occurred to him that he couldn't think of a single personal detail of his own, besides what he'd learned upon waking up. So many things were wrong, and if this man could answer, then--
A second surprise, another stranger. The man reeled back again, this time daring to rest his hand on the hilt of whatever blade he had on his person, but it was hidden under layers of outerwear and clothing. Whoever this new person was looked inexplicably more sophisticated than the other on the floor, and him; clean-cut, clean, washed clothes, and a cigarette hanging carelessly from his fingertips. He could only imagine how he must have looked to this younger individual--no doubt bloody, dried and new alike, gaunt, face streaked with dirt and grime, dark hair and eyes wild, feral. And, quite possibly concealing a weapon.
If he knew nothing about who or where he was, then how could he place that? How could he even name things? He fought down the questions by swallowing, then eyed the second newcomer warily.
a frigid breeze blows through the open door.
"I..." His gaze flashed to the collapsed figure on the floor, brow furrowed at the younger man's dismissive gesture. "I dunno," he answered a moment later. 'Wouldn't touch 'im, if I were you." His tone was less in warning and more of a command, simply worded that way for the sake of being polite. Last thing he would want was to be physically challenged in this state of his.
The man cradled his injured arm closer to his chest, then slowly rose to his knees, expression twisted with pain as he moved. Once he made it, he shot a glare--well, perhaps not as intentional or as mean as a deliberate glare, but a sharp-eyed look, one that meant all business--to the kid by the door. "Close that," he told him simply. "You're lettin' out the heat."
Without giving him time to act, he spoke again. "Who are you, kid? Where are you from?"
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Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2017 1:18:38 GMT -5
fyi @ both of you, my character's faceclaim is Kit Harrington, except taller, and a bit huskier. I'm thinking he's pretty underweight and gaunt as of right now, but that could change, depending on what conclusions we agree on after plotting.
my ideas had been the following, but Willow took a completely different angle, which I totally appreciate and enjoy, tbh, and would love to hear more about what your thoughts were. I'm just gonna jot down my thoughts real quick, for reference: 1. possible post-apocalyptic environment. our characters would have to discover what happened while trying to survive. bonus points if they find out they were actually the villains. 2. experimentation. our characters have been chosen by an unknown company's drug/radio broadcast/mind control experiment, and they are left to their own devices to survive, all while being monitored constantly. 3. something very dangerous is hunting them. (idk how it would explain my guy's memory loss, but.. just a thought.)
what were you guys thinking? please, please share!
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Post by willowflower on Jul 30, 2017 1:40:28 GMT -5
((omigosh experimentation! experimentation!
heehee, thank goodness! i was a little nervous but your first post welcomed different interpretations so i went with it ^.^ i was playing with different ideas, like the forest being an experimentation zone for the government to unleash their chemical and biological horrors upon, or taking the fairy tale angle and adding some magic in there, like your worst fears manifesting into horrible beasts (and you get to physically and metaphorically battle your inner demons! )
in the end i decided it could be go either way, with it being something non-earthly is really stirring in the forest, or it's just people being people and creating stories to explain the strange occurrences (with the forest indeed being an old experimental ground. i had been thinking my character's mom would've been an old scientist part of organization who used the forest as such. now im thinking it would be awesome to, if we went with your experimentation idea, for his mom to be part of that unknown company.)
also my dude had lost his arm when he was a kid (he had a prosthetic arm, but he gone and lost that in the forest), so i thought it'd be cool to have the possibility of him teaching your guy how to function easier with one arm ^.^ (edit: which, as i read through my starter, has not been made that clear, clearly)
i love how none of our characters are being called by name yet x3 "Who's he?" "He's him." "But I'm him." "Then who's he?!"
as for faceclaims i havent found one for my charrie yet, but i end up drawing him at one point:
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Post by willowflower on Jul 30, 2017 2:21:16 GMT -5
that arm though.
He blinked, then tilted his head, studying the other man before him. Specifically, the mangled mess that probably used to be the guy's arm. Man, he's wincing just looking at the thing, all shredded and bleeding and wrapped pitifully in some cloth. The other man's gotta be in some bad pain right now - already his mind was racing through his options, he's got water in his backpack that he could use, some hand sanitizer, but no first aid kit, darn it why does Lindy have to be right all the time -
Slowly, he lifted his hand and used his fingers to twirl his cigarette about the flashlight, lifting both to his mouth to take a long, long drag. He lowered his hand, letting his smoke-tainted breath whistle through his lips. "What happened to you?" he said, smoke still tumbling out of his mouth. Ugh, he sounded flippant even to his own ears. Still, guy looked... a tad on the dangerous side, to say the least. He wasn't sure if it would be appreciated if he suddenly dove in and tried to clean his wounds.
He then looked down at the man at his feet, frowning. "Oh s***, is he bleeding too?" Whoops. Probably shouldn't have shoved his foot into the guy's side. At once he completely disregarded the other man's warning and shuffled inside to kneel down next to the fallen man, tossing his flashlight to the side and chucking his cigarette out into the snow. He was going to have to use all of his one hand.
So he leaned over the fallen man, poking at his cheek and pulling back an eyelid. "You're not dead, right?" he asked the eyeball before releasing. "He's not dead, right?" he asked of the man next to the fire as he went to answer his own question, pressing two fingers against the throat. Yep, not dead. Good. he didn't know if he could handle a dead guy at the moment.
The wind was sweeping inside, hitting his back and making him shiver.
oh right, the door.
Making sure the fallen man's feet were out of the way, he shoved the door shut with a tad too much enthusiasm, causing it to slam heavily with a loud thud! and leaving the next moment to stew in awkwardness. He shivered a little more, hoping the fire will warm up the room (and his a**) quick.
"Right," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Who am I. Something we are all trying to figure out in one lifetime, right?" he chuckled, the sound growing weak under the other man's stare. "Um. That is. My name's Ari. I'm from... well, technically Bangladesh, but I did spend a lot of my life in the Bay Area. You know, North Cal?" Welp, he's rambling. "Anyway, that's not important. You okay, old man? That does not look pleasant. Like, at all."
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Bisexual
Lea
Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Jul 30, 2017 10:21:45 GMT -5
(I really like a mix of them. It could always still be in a post-apocalyptic world but like after the world has ended and civilization has begun to rebuild but it’s been like 10 years so while many people still remember the horrors life has gone on like normal and now the scientists are bored and haven’t learned anything from the last like 40 years so they’re like “hey we have this forest in the middle of nowhere and we’ve got these creations and some idiot discovered magic so how about we throw some guys in and see what they do??? Will it be like lord of flies, I mean there are only three of them but ???? ooooo let’s hit them in the head maybe??? Idk man sounds gr8” and maybe it was only supposed to be two but a local near the forest was like “lol mom I think the scary forest will be fun” and the scientists are like “ooooo an outside factor!” idk just spit balling ?
Also idk anything about my charrie yet i’m lowkey just going with the flow; he’s a mess, obviously, but he’s a determined mess, at least and at this point he’s just trying to survive. Face claim is undecided though currently it’s a bit of a cross between Jensen Ackles and Kevin Zegers??? Idk man edit: after typing up this mess of a response i do know a bit more about my charrie. Ian Lawrence looks like a love child of Ackles and Zegers he's a sarcastic mess with a background in being a army medic and he's got a daughter.)
darkness.
what do you do when moments before you were stumbling into a strangers home and now you were trapped in your head, appearing unconscious to those around you? Well, you can’t really do anything besides scream at yourself to wake the h*** up. He internally groaned when he felt a foot dig into his side and he audibly moaned when he felt whatever wound reopen. Was he going to die? He hoped not.
he heard voices but couldn’t make out words, his eyes flickered open and he made the slightest effort to move his head to get a better look at the others in the room. When one of them moved toward him, he closed his eyes. It wasn’t like he could move otherwise anyway. He felt someone touching him and he fought a scream, Yes! I’m alive!
the slam of the door caused him to tense and let out another groan, opening his eyes again. North Cal? He had always wanted to go to California, but he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever even see Texas again. He coughed, wanting to let the others know that he was in fact alive, but his cough led to a fit of them. He rolled over, looking up at the ceiling, resting a hand over his heart and moved his lips silently, praying to whatever entity was looking over him.
like, at all. Of course, this man had just caught pieces of the conversation, but now was when he decided was a great time to come in. pain flashed through his again and he slid a hand to the ground and pushed himself up. His vision blurred as he dragged his heavy, blood soaked body, to a wall to prop himself up, “Nice arm.” he said, his voice raspy and seemingly unused – he really just needed some water.
obviously he didn’t really mean that the torn up arm of the original inhabitant of the cabin was nice looking, he was just trying to find something to input himself into the conversation. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he wasn’t tired, “I’d try to one up you – what with my bleeding torso, but at least my arms work.” His voice sounded a bit less raspy, but his throat was still really dry.
”not trying to stop y’all from conversing, but do either you have water? Or whiskey, I’d be very happy with a shot of that. I’m not picky, though,” he tried to give a smile, but it was more like a grimace, ”Since no one has given much to the introduction thing, I’m Lawrence. Ian Lawrence – get it? Like James Bond.” nice Ian, crack some jokes as you bleed out, at least they’ll remember you as funny. he inhaled shakily, bringing a hand to his side. Ian chuckled, ”I think it may be time to change this bandage. I hate to ask, but do you either of you know how to give stitches?”
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Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2017 18:14:58 GMT -5
ok I really really do like the idea of the forest being a current ground for some kind of experimentation. a way this could possibly be explained is by a sort of apocalypse--perhaps wherever our characters currently are, they're being ruled by martial law ad the government is borderline totalitarian? at first it was implemented truly with the intentions of protecting people from whatever it is that permanently changed the world (plague? warfare?), but absolute power corrupts absolutely, and now the government likes ruling with their iron fist. I was also trying to think of an origin story for my character (and I'm gonna give him amnesia for the time being to buy me some more time to name him, heh heh), and going along with the totalitarian government idea, perhaps he was a political enemy of some kind? maybe a former employee turned whistleblower, or an investigative reporter that found out too much for his own good, then was basically sent here to help out their scientists before they eventually killed him off? ooooh, conspiracies :^0 that could be the case for Beau's character, too! (last thing, I was thinking they'd either find his wallet, a name tag, or perhaps even a camera with his name on it somewhere in the forest. just a thought) also sick drawing Willow! didn't realize you're an artist but you've got hecka talent and omfg I'm laughing "the love child of Ackles and Zegers", I see what you mean though
it's nonsensical, all of it.
The man could only blink at the last newcomer, now named Ari, as his lagging mind did its best to process what exactly it was that he was saying. A name was easy enough to comprehend, but the places he began to list afterwards sounded like absolute gibberish to him. The Bay Area. North Cal. They meant absolutely nothing; weren't familiar to him in any way at all. Was this man mad--or was something wrong with him? He eyed him strangely, raising an eyebrow in doubt, but didn't question him. Frankly, he still didn't have the energy. Let him be mad, he finally decided, Just see if you can get somethin' outta 'im first, before sendin' 'im back out there.
In response to Ari's question, he glanced down at his poorly wrapped arm, breaking the uneasy eye contact. For whatever reason, he hesitated before speaking, gazing down at the mess silently, lips parted with words unsaid. "I--it hurts," he simply said after a couple long moments--but the toughness in his voice was gone. It broke on the last word. He was barely holding it together, now that he was fully conscious and as aware of his surroundings as he could be. "Do you have--"
He found himself cut off by the other injured man's stirring. Part of him was relieved that he did rise and was indeed alive, and considerably more lively than he was, but he didn't appreciate his sarcasm. The man didn't reply to any of it; he only watched his movements through narrowed, wary eyes. Ari's humor was lighthearted enough that it didn't irk him, but the injured man's wit was grating. Maybe he would have appreciated it better if he wasn't in a great deal of pain, but still, it was a maybe. Even though he could recall very little details about himself, he already knew he wasn't a man for much humor.
You really want whiskey, at a time like this? At first, he almost snapped something rude at him--Ian Lawrence was his name now--but it then occurred to him that any strong liquor would be more than welcome. Anything to distract him from his arm, to make just sitting still easier. Maybe to make this all more enjoyable, like a seat by a fireplace with a drink in hand. And how he could recall such concepts and images when he didn't even know his own name, he still had no explanation for.
He shook his head at Ian's question, then turned his dark-eyed gaze towards Ari. "Really hope you know how," he started, voice low. "I need some too. I don't even know what happened, I just--" he paused, grimacing at the memory, still fresh, all he knew, "Woke up, right over there. That's it."
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Post by willowflower on Jul 31, 2017 0:56:27 GMT -5
((i think a strict government borne from warfare ruining everything makes a lot of sense - restrictions on information, curfews maybe, closed borders, strict control over societal roles, war/military propaganda (or anti-war), a firm hand against crimes or rebellion. it would also add to the forest being an experimental ground - for chemical/biological warfare. definitely lots of opportunities for character backgrounds.
then its like stories of forest spirits growing angry due to the experiments start to form, so the original scientists venture back to their own experimental grounds to see what's going on... and of course their best idea is to throw two people on the government's sh*t list in there and see what happens
ari would be that investigative reporter getting too close x3 i love the idea that he just wanders into the experiment
scientist: er, some dude just, uh, went into the forest. yep, he's there, he, he got in ari's mom: fhdksankdlsa of course it's my friggin son scientist 2: why didn't we build a fence around this place again...?
aw thanks viridian! ive been practicing art a little more this summer and that's probs my fav sketch so far))
am i the only one who's not like, dying?
Ari looked down at the man on the ground, surprised. "Oh hey, you're awake." Ian really didn't look good - now that he was propped up against the wall his blood-soaked bandages were on full display. That's... that's a lot of red. Ari's gut twisted - did his foot-nudging unwittingly open up a wound? That would really suck, especially if this guy ending up bleeding out. May be a stranger, but Ari would drown in his own guilt nonetheless. Ian didn't sound too hot either - his voice sounded like it was trudging through a cheese grater.
"I do have water, actually," Ari said, looking between Ian and Mystery Name, "not enough to give for drinking and for cleaning your wounds, though." Maybe if he scooped some of the snow outside and boiled that... that might work. He wondered if that fire over there was big enough to be considered natural stove top material.
He couldn't help but grin a little at the James Bond joke - cheesy, but enough to warner finger guns and an "Eeeeey, in that case, it's Bhardwaj, Ari Bhardwaj." It was strangely fun to say. Yep, that's how he's introducing himself to people now. "Sorry I don't have any alcohol. I'm more of a nicotine guy, myself." Man, how many cigarettes did he have left? Hopefully enough to sustain him while he's getting out of this forest - maybe he should ration just in case.
hah, more worried about running out of cigarettes than food.
As for stitches... "Uh, well, I'm not a doctor," he warned. Ari might have studied a little medicine, but the amount of money needed to even apply to med school? Hah. Hahahahahahahaha. "I, like, know that's it's a super bad idea to have incompetent stitchwork, though - bad sutures can cause even more damage than letting the wound close itself. And that's saying as if I had any proper equipment with me." Sadly, not even a first aid kit. Why couldn't he listen to his anal-retentive stepsister for once?
"Should probably get your wounds taken care of, though," Ari said, frowning at the two of them as he took off his backpack and started rooting through it. "First off: stop the bleeding. Secondly: wash away the blood and any bacteria," he said, pulling out his water bottle and handing it to Ian. "Looks like neither of your wounds are too exposed, but you never know. If your wounds really need help closing, I think I might have some glue or tape or staples that we can -"
He froze, staring into the depths of the first pocket of his backpack. There, right under the bundle of a sweatshirt he didn't remember putting in there, was -
"A first-aid kit!" he yelled in delight, lifting the treasure above his head. "Holy sh*t! Guys! Lindy packed me a friggin' kit! Can you believe that?!" When did she do that?! When she crammed some of her protein bars in his backpack? Never had Ari been so grateful for her meddling.
"You have, like, nothing in here," Lindy said, lifting his backpack up and down like a friggin dumbell.
"I have the important things," Ari said distractedly, throwing his entire body across the couch as his avatar dodged a blow and whirled its sword into the monsters, punching the buttons on his game console rapidly.
"Like what?"
"Uh... camera?"
"That's it?!"
"I'm just going to check something out with Kat, no biggie."
"It's never a 'no biggie', you're always coming back in the middle of the night whining about your empty stomach," Lindy said.
"Fine, throw some protein bars in there or something."
As Lindy stomped off, he could just barely hear her mumble over the pained wails of the animated characters, "That's not all I'm gonna throw in there."
His backpack had been significantly heavier when he finally headed out. wow, i guess she did care. "Never will I question you again," he whispered to the first-aid kit. If he were an anime character tears would be forming in the corners of his eyes. Cracking the kit open, he marveled at the array of bandages and pain meds. "Alright, who wants to be first?"
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