Austin is pulled through the door and into, instead, an episode of of Boston Legal.
It isn't really, of course. In this version of things, after all, he is the star of the show: the king of the kingdom, so to speak, if not in a literal sort of way. He is no longer a student with years of schooling left to struggle through before he becomes the man in charge: that is behind him, work done, merely a distant memory that has faded to nothing but the bare bones. None of that matters, now that he is head partner in an important firm, married, his own kids entered into the same schools he'd gone through as a child.
He sits on the balcony at the office after hours with a glass of whiskey and a cigar and his partner beside him, the pair of them laughing over the mess that's been brought to their feet this week. Never does the conversation they have turn to if their client is guilty, to even the slightest possibility of copping a plea. They are a powerhouse, connected and informed, rich and knowledgeable. They might hold their clients in disdain, the same way they hold their opponents, the laws, even each other, because they know they'll win.
And they know what they can do, should they lose.
It is always this way, between them. Austin says what he wants to do, and George echoes the sentiment, agreeable, a perfect simulacrum of a best friend. An extension of Austin's will that comes with added physical strength, with more resources at his fingertips. One that never argues with him, never poses other opinions, never suggests he do anything other than what he wants to do.
Who helps him win. Crush his enemies. Off people in the shadows when he doesn't get his way. Someone who helps him tear down government officials who prevent him from moving forward, up and up. Who stands by him as Austin makes the slow shift from law to politics, who organizes brutal attack ads, who polarizes the people to support him in the background.
Austin pulls the world apart with this puppet at his side, amasses a world's worth of power and wealth, tips over that top one percent. He is on the covers of magazines, his expression a fierce smile filled with white teeth. He is a suit, inhabited by a monster with calculating eyes. He is a god, or might as well be.
It wasn't a bad thing, really to be respected. In fact, Raffin rather liked being respected, liked when people looked up at him, thought of him as having high intelligence and good instincts. He liked having all of the information, because information and knowledge was important. And he liked that he could be the one to support others by sharing that knowledge with them.
He was separated from them, but that was okay, and he knew it. It was okay, he was a good leader, a responsible leader, and he was quite capable, if he did say so himself. He treated his people well, even if he was in a different league than they were, and he made sure that everyone was well-cared for.
It was a quiet life. It was a good life, even if it wasn't a strong life. It was a simple life, and it was the simple life that Raffin preferred. Maybe he'd never had anything particularly exciting happen to him, but hat didn't mean that it was a bad life. It was a pleasant, quiet, and altogether quite fulfilling life.
She woke up cold. The fact that she'd slept did not bother Harmony; she kind of slept a lot. Like a cat, she slept in impossible places, attracted to sunlight and water. But now she was awake and it was cold and it was awful. There was someone she was supposed to... Rubbing her hand across her face, she got up. She grumbled and it was echoed by something inside her mind.
"They did not tell you." The voice rang through her head, disappointment seeping off of it like sap leaking from a tree, slow, sticky. It pooled in the bottom of her mind, hurting, full. Harmony screeched, the sounds at odds with the voice, and she nearly blacked out. Something has latched onto her legs; she feels it, althoguh she can't see it well. It hurts. JErking her legs, she struggling, red wings flapping ineffectually. She fought and she strained and....
Why was she fighting? Harmony blinked underneath the thick fringe of her hair. This is what should be, Harmony thought. Harmony... that was a funny name, but not hers... not... theirs.
OOC
Infection: 0/100 HP: 30/30
Character's name: Harmony von Bathory Character's faction: Halloween Character's species: red zhezu BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER small girlish figure dressed in bloodied nurse attire x
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:00 pm
[ DREAM SCENARIO: GOLD DOOR ]
When the dream breaks, Austin is left feeling just a bit hollow, regret slowly oozing into the cracks -- because that was a dream he liked, one he didn't want to leave, and that even now he wishes he could dive back into. Instead he is faced with another choice, stuck once again in the fog until he passes through yet another door. He blows a breath out through his nose and considers his option.
The red, a heart, thorny and furious. The purple, a locked door, a gate, the entrance to somewhere secretive -- and then the gold, a throne, winged and important, and there's no way in hell Austin isn't going through that one.
He passes through it, and this time he steps into Game of Thrones.
Again, of course it's not actually Game of Thrones, but his twisted version of it: a medieval world of mixed fantasy, kingdoms at war, backstabbing that he has been raised with since near birth. As in the real world, here he has been raised to a life of privilege, one of the esteemed Elswood family, the Children of the Golden Wood.
This kingdom is theirs; he is not only its heir, but its only heir, the solitary offspring before his mother's passing. He wears the crown of golden vines [and this gives him a shuddering pause, something about the sight of it giving him chills] and has for as long as he can remember. He is taught the laws of the land, and learns on his own how to flaunt them to get what he wants. He is told his duties, and discovers himself what he can take as his right, and what he must respect as privilege.
When his father is killed, he takes the kingdom in his own hand, and while he is not kind, while he is self-centered and demanding, while he does what he likes, the people love him all the same -- because he knows how to get them what they want, as well. He takes wives and leaves them as they no longer suit his needs; he takes the captain of the guard and sends the treasurer to the dungeons when he refuses. But his knights take over a sprawling expanse of countryside, until it's just shy of too much for him to handle.
His people prosper. He gets older.
His children age. He withers.
His kingdom thrives. He wastes away.
He dies, and once again finds himself standing before a door.
Ignatius blinked, vision coming back into focus. How did he ever end up here? He was asleep, like the humans? Why would he fall asleep in the human world? That was foolish. He didn't know when something could happen in a place like this one.
What was this feeling? It felt like there was ice inside him, but he was not of ice. It slowed his movements, lessened his glow. This was not his element. Something was wrong here--
They did not tell you.
Ignatius clutched at his head. Get out, get out, get out--
I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality.
What weapon? What eventuality? Get out, get out, get out--
My knowledge increases. This is my awakening.
Stop.
Ignatius felt himself fade, for a moment, before it came back, sharper than he could have imagined. It was physical, this time, and Ignatius looked around, reaching until his hands came upon a vine that had lodged itself in. It pulled and pulled, and while Ignatius yanked at it, he found himself unable to stop himself from being pulled in like a fish hooked onto a fishing pole.
There were vines all around him, just like the one that had stolen him, and they brought with them nausea that threatened to knock him out again right there. He found the sensation lessened when he shut his eyes, and so he did, still yanking on the vine harshly in an attempt to get it to loosen up.
But nothing loosened but his own grip as he was dragged closer, and Ignatius understood. This wasn't about him. This was not about what he was. This was much greater than --
No, no--
This was they. He was far greater than his single part--
Ignatius, don't you remember?
This was not Ignatius. This was not sure who Ignatius was. This was them.
They felt themselves slip.
This was them as long as they knew.
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:15 pm
[ VICTIM'S POV - DREAM SCENARIO: WHITE DOOR ]
Emmanuel had been dreaming for who knows how long.
He found himself drifting out of one dream and into another, not acknowledging any changes and generally feeling like he was at peace. Here, he saw his old friends. He saw his family. He was able to play his games as his dreams wished and explore the worlds in others.
There were other things that made him cringe, and he remembered the loss, the despair, the beginning of what felt like the end, the original Day Zero and what had tumbled after its occurrence --
And three doors.
Emmanuel stood silent, for a moment, before pushing through the White Door.
The room he entered into was silent as well. Silent, enclosed, grey. There was nothing for him here. This was isolation in its truest form, and Emmanuel sat, nothing else to do but wait around as time kept moving on without him in the world.
Days, weeks, months, years felt like they dragged on, with little change in his location or space. He was wasting away in this cage, a cage he was not sure how he ended up in, until one day he heard a voice through the small opening, asking him to come out. Freedom, they said, was on the other side. Freedom was better than where he was, and Emmanuel obliged, nearly running to join them.
It took a while for his eyes to adjust to something not grey and bleak, but soon he realized it was his manager who had found him, the one who had discovered his esports talents in the first place. It was odd what they had promised him, but nonetheless Emmanuel was grateful, happy to be able to experience these things as overwhelming as they were.
He got to travel the world, eat strange foods, go to concerts and competitions and new things -- but each time he would do anything, he would find that shortly afterwards, some chaos would happen. The flights would be cancelled and he'd get no refund. The food would be thrown out. The concerts and competitions would be set ablaze. Nothing Emmanuel experienced was something he was truly able to experience.
It took a little while, but Emmanuel eventually found the one consistency in the destruction: his manager. All they wanted was Emmanuel's focus on one thing: them and his career.
It was a hard decision, but Emmanuel knew he had to do one thing for the safety of the rest of the world.
He returned to his cage.
He hid.
He wasted out the rest of his days so the world was safe.
Seiana_ZI
Codebreaking Conversationalist
Offline
Seiana_ZI
Codebreaking Conversationalist
Offline
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:15 pm
[ VICTIM'S POV - VIOLET DOOR ]
The dream shattered as he wasted away, leaving Emmanuel back to himself but in front of yet more doors.
After the dream he just had, surrounded by greys, red felt harsh. Gold burned his eyes. Neither of these beckoned to him, but violet did. Emmanuel stepped into the violet door, letting himself be swept away by dreams once more.
When he was appointed to this post, he knew that he was meant to be a Guardian. A Guardian of the World, really, meant to guide those who were lost and give shelter to those who were in danger. It was a great responsibility, but Emmanuel was more than ready for it, even if that preparedness came with a bit of a side note.
He was a judge, but no one had truly told him how to judge. Prosecutors and defendants came to him declaring what was right and what was wrong, but he truly didn't know the difference. How could he help one or the other? All people were worthy of mercy. All people were worthy of protection.
His rulings came down and they were always, at best, neutral. At first, it truly made him seem to be the most just of all, fair and balanced instinctively without the bonds of morality and other things weighing him down, but it didn't take long before his reputation was twisted.
He's too kind to the criminals.
He didn't help me when I needed it most.
How could he not grant protection? I'll die!
He rules one way sometimes and another way in others... He's inconsistent!
The words hurt, but Emmanuel kept on, attempting to protect people through his means the best way that he could. He wove his words carefully, attempting to calm the anger that bubbled in those he spoke with even though they continued to rail against him. They always wanted more, always wanted better judgments, always wanted a retrial or a different way of thinking or a different approach to protection and safety and freedom and --
His world spun the day that everything finally collapsed on him, perhaps in a literal sense.
As he laid dying, Emmanuel wondered what else he could have done.
Could he have fixed this?
What did he need to fix?
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:20 pm
[ RESCUERS POV ]
Kat wrapped her arms around herself in a poor attempt to warm herself. Why was everything so cold all of a sudden? Or rather why was she so cold? Unsure of how or when she had fallen asleep, the Sun hunter moved one of her hands to grasp at her head. What the hell is even going on?! It felt as though something, or someone was reaching deep into her mind, messing with her emotions. She didn't like it one bit.
"They did not tell you."
Who and what were they talking about? And more precisely, who was voice was this? With every word, she could feel her consciousness slipping, but still she struggled to stay awake.
"I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality. My knowledge increases. This is my awakening."
Unable to question, or even answer, everything blacked out momentarily. Awakening again, to the sound of something approaching, she felt the sting of something piercing her leg. Vision finally focusing, just enough for her to get a glimpse of what was happening as she eyed the vines around her leg, gaze then shifting to the sight of brain like structure.
Unable to look for too long, the humming in her mind grew, causing her to slowly start to slip into unconsciousness once again.
Hands reaching for anything to grab hold to, her willingness to fight it was fading. Could she fight this any longer? Did she want to?
No.
This was what she was meant for.
Quote:
Character's name: Katherine (Kat) Taylor Character's faction: Sun Hunter Character's journal link: Here Character's survival stats: Using Brie's inventory BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Reference Status: Hearing is better, ears still sore. May be permanently damaged. HP: 60/60 Weapon: Dual Handguns (2d12-6) Vehicle: Vespa
LividPeas
Tiny Bunny
Offline
LividPeas
Tiny Bunny
Offline
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:21 pm
[ VICTIMS POV: WHITE DOOR ]
Secure in the comfort of her dreams, Brie dreamt of her time with her family when she was a small girl. Playing in her mother's garden while her mother tended to the plants, her father sitting close by reading the morning newspaper.
Everything shifted.
The beginning of day zero, the horror in the streets, and the sound of screams that filled the air. She was terrified! For days, she remained hidden, huddled in a corner, praying that they would not spot her.
A figure, someone appeared and did find her, brought her to the safety of an abandoned apartment building. Only it wasn't abandoned. Survivors took their refuge there, watched over by the man who has saved her and another woman. She felt safe, surrounded by people who cared about her. A new family?
The dream altered its self again, and before her three doors appeared. Unable to focus, Brie reached out for one, the white door before being tossed into another dream.
Stuck inside a room for what felt like months, she heard a voice call out to her. Familiar, close to her heart. They offered her freedom, love, a kindness she was not familiar with. The alternative being so much worse, she wanted to follow them, and did.
The world they showed her was overwhelming, but wonderful. The sights, sounds and tastes she had never imagined before, she wanted to stay like this forever. She was happy.
As fast as the joy came, it soon faded, taking a turn for the worst when everything was destroyed in an instant. How? Who- it was them..? Everything she grew to love and cherish was crushed, gone, taken from her. The only thing left was the love they offered, for her to only focus on them. But how could she?
Scared by the madness of it all, she hid, in hopes to escape it all.
Quote:
Character's name: Brie Hudson Character's faction: Faction 3 / Apartments Character's journal link: Here Character's survival stats: View BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Reference Status: Hearing is better, ears still sore. May be permanently damaged. HP: 50/50 Weapon: Umbrella (2d10-6) Infection Rate: 0/100
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:22 pm
[ VICTIMS POV: VIOLET DOOR ]
The dream ended, and she was one again presented with three doors. Reaching out, the woman entered the violet door, and was thrown into a new dream.
Brie was happy to be of help to the people around her. Now and then, one by one they would ask for her assistance in something. How could she say no? It was in her nature to give them what they required. Each time she would aid someone, a small happiness was gained, to the point where she actually looked forward to it, enjoyed it even.
Over time, the whispers of 'traitor' or 'betrayer' would surface, even spoken by her kin and loved ones. Hurt and defeated by the accusations, she attempted to wrap her mind around why they were so angry. Why did they hate her? What was it she had done that was so wrong that it warranted everyone's hate? Hadn't she done well? Wasn't this what they asked?
She had given them anything and everything they has asked her, stretched herself so thin that she no longer possessed the energy to do anything anymore.Why did they look upon her with such hate? Why?
She never knew.
Quote:
Character's name: Brie Hudson Character's faction: Faction 3 / Apartments Character's journal link: Here Character's survival stats: View BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Reference Status: Hearing is better, ears still sore. May be permanently damaged. HP: 50/50 Weapon: Umbrella (2d10-6) Infection Rate: 0/100
Sucre woke from her sleep. Not a restful fulfilling sleep full of red-eyed monsters and too many cookies. She woke up with a noisy head. She couldn't focus, and didn't even try thinking about when she had fallen asleep. She couldn't. Something was digging in her head. Something tugged at her, pulled her apart piece by piece.
Words formed in her head, and she barely understood them. Thinking hurt, almost hurling her back into uncomfortable sleep. Thier meaning eluded her, but it was bad. Looking for something. Gathering knowledge. Knowledge she didn't posses. It was looking and it did not find it in her. Collecting knowledge....creeple...
A sharp ringing took over when the words ended and blackness consumed her again. Sucre came too, slowly, each rhythmic bump, heavy and shaking, brought her back. After that if was pain. Her legs hurt, every bounce hurt. She was covered in the thorny vines. Her heart dropped. She knew but refused to process.
It didn't matter, she couldn't process as a humming intruded her mind. Pulling again. Stronger, gathering her up. More words, and less lies. She is part of something. Sucre tried to grasp on the memories that were plucked away, but she could not muster any strength. She fixated on one memory but that too was taken from her. It was easier not to be..
OOC
Name: Sucre Faction: Monsters Subspecies: Slime Monster Character's journal link:Journal General Appearance Sugary goo-girl. Probably annoyingly peppy and loud, but sort of nice. Bakes tasty things HP: 30/30
Candice was floating in and out of her own life. It was mixed, but not chaotic. Both sad and happy. The worst was the beginning of it all, day zero. She had been born into a crumbling family and ended in a crumbling world. Candice had tried so hard. The memories began to fade away, pulling back from her. They separated, tunneling into something.
Her memories became doors in front of her. A choice. Choices didn't seem to be taking her anywhere other than darkness. Maybe she could get back into the place she had been just seconds ago.
The white door, light and clean, looked most appealing. Candice walked through it. For a satisfying moment she was back in her prison cell. The moment she thought it strange she now found comfort in an inmate cell it changed. Dark cement walls. No windows, just a crack under the door where the slightest bit of light seeps in. Isolation cells. Orange labeled bottles lined her cell floor. Perfect order. All of them empty. The prescriptions weren't in her name, she thought, but reading was difficult, the words too blurry.
When was the last time she had seen anyone. She desperately fell to the floor and searched for any signs of life under the door. No noise, no footsteps or speech. Nothing. How long? When had she last heard her own voice? The pill bottles began to float, slowly drifting around the room. A fine white dust falls constantly, covering everything in white. Or at least it would have if that could even break through the shadows.
She waited, clawing at the walls, crying, walking in circles and finally limply lying on the hard bench. It didn't even feel hard anymore because she had forgot how to feel.
A voice called out to her from the door as smoke slid from the crack. "Candy." it called. "Come with me Candy. Come home." It tells her. Candice does, out of her numbness she thinks anything but here.
Outside was amazing. Color, light, softness. She wanted to watch and touch. There was something there, a eagerness to experience, a feeling that could not be matched. She felt a pang of deep sorrow as things began to break down, destroyed. Her sister was doing it. Ruining happiness like she always did. Candice looked at her, shock and disgust. Her sister grinned, sinister. "Candy I've missed you.." she said. Why did Candice almost believe her?
Did Candice miss her? She knew she didn't want this. It was cruel. It was madness. She had to get away. Running. She felt like she was always running. Candice stopped, and hid, because her tears were messing with her vision.
OOC
Character's name: Candice Wolf Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Candice Wolf Go BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Short and stout corrections officer. Pixie-cut curly blonde hair and green eyes.
Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2015 12:33 pm
[ Rescuer POV ]
Chel didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have because otherwise how would she be waking up? She probably passed out in the car with Jack. That made sense. The buzzing, the irritation- that made sense too. Probably just an aftereffect of dehydration and stress; she was used to the feeling.
Except Jack was gone and the car was empty.
"They did not tell you. I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality. My knowledge increases. This is my awakening."
Chel gripped her head, all too used to the sensation of voices in her head, the powerful pull of an emotion, the overwhelming sensation of defeat. A legacy. She cringed under the weight of the voice, the sound like daggers scraping against her skull. It was too much, too much. Darkness confounded her again. Always darkness; it seemed the path she walked was always going to be into the unknown, the dark.
She- or it? isn't sure if she's really Chel anymore. All she can register are vague sensations. For a moment she's whole, for a moment she has comprehension of the unknown and if she's honest? She feels at peace. Finally she understands her place in the world; not a hunter, not Halloween, not a human. Creation. Her purpose. No more stunted conversations with Jack about her place, no more mistrust between friend and ally. Just creation, a single rhizome in a stand of trees, one clone of another created for a purpose unbeknownst to the creation.
< Fight it, you clod. > Tenebrae's words are gnashing teeth on pavement, jagged and painful. He's losing control and he knows it. There's a small moment where she remembers Jack and she hears Chris and Abbi and a see of other faces and they're making the same expression she thought Tenebrae might be making. Yet they too disappear, they're just one face in a sea of many. They're a symphony with no conductor. All of them are discordantly telling her to hang on a little longer. They'll be there, just wait Chel, just-
But Chel doesn't fight, even when the thorns stab into her leg and pull her from the car. Her limp body slaps against the side of the car like wet cardboard; Chel doesn't even feel the damage. Her body is being dragged towards the vines and she 's happy for it. She simply releases and lets creation take her. For once in her life, she feels whole and knows this is where she's meant to be.
OOC
Character's Name: Rajni Patel Character's Faction: Apartments Character's Journal Link:here Character's Survival Stats:Rajni PatelView BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Indian, hooked nose, average height, thin black hair, thick green headband, aviators
Her half closed eyes, flooded with tears, were lanced with colors. Her world shattered, and more doors appeared before her.
Candice didn't want any. She didn't want more, but she promised herself to try to survive. She had to keep moving, keep running. She pushed through the gold door only because she'd never give up or sit on a throne. She'd pick the the least expected one.
Candice was a queen. She did not run. She did not hide. She inherited a duty and she took it and nurtured it. She was revered and respected, as it should be. As her family before her was.
It was a wild land of forests and hills that she ruled. It was simple but flourishing.Everyone had a place, and within that place their role was important. Her subject fulfilled their own roles and life was peaceful.
She would always be Queen, she would always be in command. She was not questioned, she was not hated or overthrown. She lived for her kingdom, simple but strong. She aged for it, and the people with her, yet her kingdom would thrive, her and the rest of her family's legacy.
She had been. Candice had done what she had too. She had done her duty to her kingdom, and family, and herself. She wasn't dying with regrets. Her life had been, not perfect, but just simple and fulfilling.
OOC
Character's name: Candice Wolf Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Candice Wolf Go BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Short and stout corrections officer. Pixie-cut curly blonde hair and green eyes.
Reply
