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TDM // #1
REBIRTH ALWAYS FOLLOWS DEATH
You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.
You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.
Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...
You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.
You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.
Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...
► I. REAP WHAT YOU SOW
a. A CLOAKED FIGURE STANDS BEFORE YOU, EERILY QUIET. It only stares, faceless, towering well over you as you struggle to find your balance on your weakened feet, the air you breathe in scorching your throat. Your senses are annoyingly muddled, and it's enough of a distraction, perhaps, to overlook your state of undress. And then it finally speaks. The Reaper. It's surprisingly polite, its voice a melodious string of low hissing notes as it calmly explains what and where you are; a Restless, citizen of the Netherworld. You were reborn here for reasons unknown, another soul among thousands with seemingly unfinished business, cursed or blessed to roam a world slowly devoured by an entropic force. Hell? Perhaps, if it suits your beliefs, though some do thrive here, and keeping Oblivium at bay is a collective effort.
Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?
THINGS YOU MIGHT HEAR OR OBSERVE
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak
THINGS YOU MIGHT STUMBLE UPON
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit
b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.
Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit
if you choose to address the netherwork directly as one of your prompts, reapers or any other npc might reply to you. otherwise, feel free to speculate with other characters!
additionally, if you wind up poisoned or injured by a badaliscus, the occasional scaleberry can sometimes be found in the shadowlands, often rotten and scattered around withered trees. you'll find this kind of information in your smartphone's database, but anyone with healing abilities could also come to your aid: just remember that magic in the netherworld is unpredictable.
lastly, if l'appel du vide is too strong for you to resist, and if no one is able to keep you from falling to your death, a reaper will eventually give you a hand, immediately poofing out of existence afterwards.
b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.
► II. OF SOULS & SHADOWS
a. WHETHER YOU'VE FAILED TO FREE YOURSELF OR MANAGED TO BOARD A FRIENDLIER SHIP, you won't escape the storm, a tempest within a tempest.
Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.
b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:
Deaded things slam into you, spat out of the tornado. The sight snaps you out of your daze, but you don't have time to ponder whether this eerie interlude was real. It won't speak again, never directly. You'll know it's there, viscerally, as your Self and Shadow struggle to come to grips with this new antagonistic yet symbiotic relationship. If you've never been kind to yourself before, learn how to, because it won't be.
Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:
Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.
b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:
Enjoying your first taste of sea-salt horrors? You can feel it, can't you. The pull. It's eating at you, subtly, but it's there. You can’t run. You can’t
get away from me either, because I’m you, and I’m just as
much a part of you as all the noble ideals you hold. All the awful
thoughts you ever entertained, all the things you were ashamed of or couldn't bring yourself to say, and all the
lies you told... that’s what I am, and you can’t make me go
away. You can’t outlive me. I’m going to remind you of
all the terrible things you did or wanted to do, and I’m going to
get you to do more of them, because you’re still
you and you still have all those nasty little urges
floating around. Only now I’m here to highlight
the opportunities you have to indulge. Don't be shy. If you won't speak your mind, I'll do it for you. If you ever considered redemption, think again. Fight me or silence me if you wish, it doesn't matter. Even if you succeed. I may go dormant for a while, but I'll always come back stronger. I'm your Shadow, and Oblivium awaits us.
Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:
a. Teleportation, allowing you to vanish into thin air and relocate anywhere you wish, the same way a Reaper would. Usable 4 times.
b. Mind-reading, albeit a bit murky. Think of it as a weak signal reception. Pry some information about the Netherworld out of an NPC's mind, or try to find out what a friend think of you. Lasts 12 hours.
► III. THE ETERNAL CITY
IF YOU'VE ELECTED TO REACH STYGIA INSTEAD OF MATERIALIZING BACK INTO YOUR HOME IN THE SHADOWLANDS, you'll be welcomed by fishermen in the Harbors, and most of them seem... well, a little annoyed, honestly. Additional mouths to feed, and all that. Stygia has been at max capacity for decades, and resources aren't always easily obtained. But they were like you, once -- freshly undead, overwhelmed -- and if they sigh and glower as you pass by, quick to dismiss you, you'll soon be guided towards what seems to be a Notice Board, a map of Stygia pinned just below. Make yourself useful, you're told. If you hope to survive here, better start by earning your keep!
If you're injured, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.
Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!
As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...
If you're injured, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.
Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!
As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...
ooc note
► Welcome to Nightfell's very first TDM! All threads can be considered game canon and may be used as samples if you choose to apply.
► Check out the Notice Board for additional prompts!
► For your convenience: Bestiary, Glossary, Setting.
► If you still have questions regarding the game in general, please refer to the FAQ. For questions specific to the TDM, ask them below!
► We hope you enjoy your first experience in Nightfell!
network; un: keith
wait, no – yes, time to downplay it. ]
you’re already dead
[ and not in that, you done fucked up, nice ( not ) knowing you, rip dude kind of way. text leaves a lot to be desired.
eyes narrow and keith squints at the line of his own text, mulling it over, before tapping out another: ]
can you die a second time in the netherworld?
[ maybe this dude should test the theory.
and let keith know?? thx. ]
no subject
(jonas' sarcasm is audible despite the response being texted back, flat and unassuming. would keith feel better if he took of a video of himself perishing? for science?)
I'm glad you came to me instead of asking someone who isn't hopelessly lost in an amusement park though, because wouldn't you know it, I'm the resident expert on the Netherworld. You can die twice! You can die three times if you're feeling really spicy!
You just come right on back, healthier than ever. The overarching threat death poses and your resulting trauma don't actually matter! Who knew???
no subject
much thanks, dude. ]
i’m not suggesting you should die
obviously it’s better if you avoid putting yourself in compromising positions
[ it should be noted that jonas’ sarcastic rant doesn’t receive the recognition it deserves. keith is, unfortunately, tone deaf and far too literal. ]
you’re at an amusement park
[ keith hasn’t seen it; doesn’t realize it is better described as an unamusement park. ]
what’s so dangerous about that anyway
no subject
omggggggggg
(the follow-up comes a few moments later, but this was necessary for jonas to send all on its own.)
If you know what an amusement park is, you can understand how I did not believe I was putting myself in a compromising position. I've only ever seen them on tv, so I was like "Oh, boy! I can check this off the bucket list before the inevitable afterlife depression sets in! What luck!"
Should I have been more careful? Yes. Ha-ha-ha, I'm a dumbass. Hindsight is 20/20. Etc. Do I care about any of that right now? No.
I've heard the worst noises imaginable that I can't even describe to you and I am very ready to leave. If you're not gonna help, kindly tell someone else I'm here and/or piss off.
no subject
for all i know it could be a trap
no subject
Listen, if I prove it's real, will you send aid?? Standby for video.
(sure enough, the camera turns on.
jonas stands back to back with another identical copy of himself—who is facing a copy of itself, ad infinitum—and before long the lighting of his display adjusts to reveal the truth behind the optical nightmare. he is in the belly of the house of mirrors. the feed looks slightly distorted, but even jonas doesn't notice.
who knew there was a blair witch project filter? haha, psyche, it's all just haunted.)
... Ugh, God— (he encounters his front-facing camera, disgusted. at least while jonas doesn't sound particularly scared, his breathing can't lie; he is audibly distressed.) Uh, Keith? That's your—your name's your screen name, right? Text back if can you hear me.
text; 1/2
must. resist. urge. to. turn. off. phone.
thankfully ( ??? ) keith does, indeed, standby. morbid curiosity for this shitshow? perhaps. sounds better to say his do-gooder paladin habits are kicking in, though.
now, keith isn’t easily rattled but –
huh.
okay.
clone flashbacks.
he’s fresh off of dying on a space station full of clones made in the likeness of his best friend, ok, so a brief, knee-jerk oh fuck, multiples is forgiveable. he takes comfort in the fact that there is no one to see him here and soon, that uneasy feeling dissipates anyway, not that his frown does. ]
yeah
[ that’s his name-name. and yeah, he can hear him. a kinder person would switch to voice. to help talk down that panic with the bare minimum of human interaction. keith is not this person.
… fuck. ok maybe he is. ]
voice; 2/2
Hey.
[ now isn’t that a welcome sound? monotone and simple, not bored, exactly, but deliberately light in the show of concern. people skills 10/10. ]
So you’re, uh… lost in one of those mazes? It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.
[ aka, try harder. ]
no subject
jonas tempers his expectations and glances back into one of the mirrors. the action is unnecessary when he's surrounded by them, but for some reason, it helps to check. just in case.)
Look, you can naysay me all you want. I probably even deserve it for getting myself trapped in here... but I've been at this for hours. Surely, like, by now, like, statistically, I should've found an exit. I haven't.
(sighs heavily at keith's judgemental face, stress carrying it for a full two seconds.
(honestly, would i have responded any differently? jonas thinks, pulling the opinion up from a very deep well of patience. this place freaks me the hell out; who can blame the guy for being a little cautious?))
It'd be really, really great if you could just skip to the "I believe you" part. Do I have to beg?
no subject
If you start begging, I’m hanging up. [ this is not a bluff. ] Just – quit talking and focus.
[ for himself? keith thinks of his best friend’s ever calming patience yields focus and tries his best to adhere to it. amazingly, it works. so – kinder now: ]
I believe you.
[ who would stoop to this embarrassing low for a gag or a trap? heh. ]
Now… what strategy did you take in trying to get out? Did you keep a hand to the wall?
no subject
I am focusing. I've been focused. You—you—derailed me. (he's even gesturing at the camera with a finger raised. it's everyone's fault but his, keith.) I'm—I've definitely—I mean, I think I've done that. I-I'll try again, but I keep getting nowhere fast.
(is it "male feminist" of him to wonder if there's a woman around to help him out of here? they typically have better ideas, don't they? thinking back to following alex around, his stepsister seemed to have a solution or recommendation for everything they encountered. this is quite a bit different; what can he do on his own?
jonas watches keith for a moment, hand sliding over straight and warped mirrors, genuinely glad, despite their bickering, to see another face. while the guy seems standoffish, he's trying and that's enough.)
I tried using my phone's flashlight, and I thought I could, like, climb one of the things... you know? The walls are floor-to-ceiling, though, and any access doors I've found have been locked. If I had a bobby pin or something—ugh. It smells bad in here, too...
no subject
jonas’ face takes up an unfortunate amount of the camera lens, but he does get glimpses of mirror and enclosed, blocked off ceiling space.
nowhere fast.
climb one.
floor-to-ceiling.
locked.
smells bad.
he does manage to comprehend the important parts, though that last one… – is it important? probably mildew? dead rat? perhaps a previous lost fool locked inside for hours and making a mess in one of two ways. best not to think about it. ]
So basically, you’ve tried everything except the obvious.
[ obvious being…? ]
Break the mirrors and make your own way out.
[ straight to the point. is it a good point? who knows. beats wandering in circles or banging on locked door… assuming the mirrors are flimsy in build and aren’t backed by anything substantial.
good luck, dude. ]
( mod note: /sliiiiiides this in for the hell of it. IF you want to have jonas break a mirror ( or mirrors ), he will experience very, very bad luck for the equivalent of seven earth days. )
no subject
(boy, is he ever going to write in his diary about this.)
... Sorry, I'm not trying to trash your ideas, man, it's just—the outcome isn't how it is in movies. Every kind of glass breaks badly, even the tempered stuff... and also it hurts. Like, a lot. (jonas pulls a face, finally understanding how pathetic this is all making him sound. mansplaining glass? a new low. determined to not be pathetic in front of this far calmer restless, he hangs his head for a moment and sighs out his inevitable acceptance.
keith wins the round.)
Alright. Alright. Thought my days doing this were over—
(crack! goes his elbow into his own reflection, splintering into segments to expose its wooden back. some fall to shatter further under gravity, but most must be dug at with careful fingers. it does hurt, but his hands come away clean and safe, and his jacket went that extra mile to keep his arm from becoming a pincushion.
hm.)
Well, that isn't the way forward. At least I'll remember where I've been this time, though.
(ooc: omg i will tell the zack fair player because zack has broken so many of them. poor bastard just tryna help LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)
no subject
the crack is loud even over the speaker. his nose wrinkles with it, eyes narrowing a subtle fraction. disappointment comes easily after that; shit, so they are adequately made and adequately structured in the space. should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy.
this is likely his cue. he’s meant to get up, go out, and navigate his way through unfamiliar territory to locate not only the amusement park, but this specific attraction. ]
Good point.
[ keith’s on his feet and walking, though what good that’ll do, who can rightly say at this point. in the meantime at least: ]
So keep on breaking? Do you have good footwear? Might hurt less to mark the mirrors with a kick.
( ooc: OH LOL. poor zack... just trying to help. OFC ALL OF THIS CAN BE IGNORED. just a fun ?? possibility if you'd like ROFL )
no subject
(thank god the home behind his door happened to have some, or this would be a much more painful experience.
jonas leaves the broken mirror alone and walks until he reaches a junction. his last few struggling iq points rub together to give him a better idea: smash only the mirrors that mark a turn. he can keep his path straight, and if someone does happen to show up, they can follow him easier.)
Now I know what Hansel and Gretel felt like. Gotta say, I'd give the whole experience a one-star rating, because something isn't trying to eat me yet. And at least the lights, though dim, are still on— (then he's plunged into darkness.
complete darkness, the kind that seems darker than the inside of his eyelids. his shout on the other end of the call is shrill.)
Oh, Jesus! Oh, God! Flashlight app, flashlight app—
(ooc: the possibility is comical, idk about the zack player but i'm all in for this... blames his bad luck on keith in the end...)