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Entry tags:
- !event,
- 2064 rom: turing,
- dangan ronpa: hajime hinata,
- dangan ronpa: kiyotaka ishimaru,
- dangan ronpa: kokichi ouma,
- dangan ronpa: shuichi saihara,
- elsword: clamor ventus,
- elsword: noah ebalon,
- fate: sherlock holmes,
- hanako-kun: nene yashiro,
- mo dao zu shi: meng yao,
- my hero academia: shoto todoroki,
- red dead redemption: arthur morgan
May event/tdm
Golden Week (closed to current characters)
On the 28th, Aiko Okane's body is returned to the auditorium, rotten and still thawing when the first student walks in upon her and screams themselves hoarse. She is swiftly removed and the auditorium is closed for the rest of the day for deep cleaning, the smell of disinfectant lingering for days after. In honor of the late student council president, a gorinto is later set up on one of the windowsills in the art room, stones perpetually damp and causing those who touch it to experience vivid flashbacks of flashing strobe lights so bright it's nauseating, a spinning room, hands covered in soot, a shadow moving from behind a bookcase, sharp pain in the back of the head—-
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
05/06 06:00 (open to all)
You open your eyes.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
05/08 16:27 (open to all)
After school on the 8th, when Clamor is headed up the second floor stairwell to the clocktower, he'll find that the door doesn't push in easily, as if there were something blocking it. A harder push and he dislodges something heavy, dark red blood pouring out from the open door to soak through his shoes and those of anybody nearby as the world spins and pitches and falls apart.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
OOC
- ✽ This event log doubles as a TDM, with new characters experiencing the recurring feeling of drifting in (school life) and out (canon life) of sleep up until they "open their eyes," after which they will have full awareness and come to their senses. Pre-established cr is possible to some extent, as a varying degree of familiarity may remain, but all characters will be strangers to one another unless they know each other in canon.
- ✽ A new closed prompt will go up on the 10th for auction results and body investigation, and on the 31st for the student council assembly.
- ✽ After the 8th, any blood spilled in the school will result in characters in the vicinity seeing its transformation into a dilapidated version of the same building. Nearby npcs turn into shadows, while nearby pcs are brought into the other world together. Finding a mirror and breaking it will return the character to where they originally were, as if no time had passed.
- ✽ The layout of the transformed school is exactly the same as the original, with inaccessible locations remaining inaccessible. The exception is the auditorium which has been replaced by a void, and fully stepping into the void will result in permadeath and a drop from the game. TDM characters may step into the void as their "exit" any time during the month, but if they are apped into the game, that death will not be considered canon.
- ✽ Applications are always open on a rolling basis. The player cap is currently set at 40, but will lowered to 30 in June.
b.
...
( the question doesn't go unheard, and rather, komaeda brings a hand to his chin in thought as he looks it over. what could be the final destination is left to their imagination, but he continues to mull over his thoughts first. there's a possibility that this is also something he's vaguely familiar with it, but the )
They fed it... ( which is an obvious deduction on his part, but with a soft chuckle he continues: ) Maybe it's here to do the same to this world. ( a place that they know nothing of, a complete mystery, but why would they toss in dead bodies... is it to keep it compliant? it might be something living despite the way it remains kept within the center of the auditorium. )
no subject
[Assuming this void works like Henir's space, anyway. He runs a hand along the doorframe, letting the empty chill of the void eat at his warmth. Rather than pull his hand back, he simply leaves it there for now. Let's see if it'll freeze solid in the lack of heat.]
It could just be a means to an end... tossing something into the void is one way to eliminate a problem. Inefficient, but the chances of it ever ending up here again is infinitesimally small... but I don't think that's the case here.
The shadows in this world... perhaps it's not a coincidence that they're shaped like people, when they're tossing bodies into the void. Entities that exist in the space beyond life and death don't reproduce, exactly, but they do sometimes form from living beings that fall through the cracks. Organic matter, corpses wouldn't produce anything that useful if they've been left to rot for too long, but it's still a useful building block... do you think these shades have minds, souls, or are they just the empty husks of those who've long since died in this hell?
[he tilts his head, staring at Komaeda as he waits for an answer.]
no subject
...
( recalling the way they fed the void, that is something to make note of. )
Minds or it's instinct... if they lacked that, would they be capable of something so simple.
( they could have just moved on, left it there, but they felt the need to lift whoever it was up, and then toss them off. he's not meant to focus solely on that, but if they firmly believe they have a job, and it's a testament to why they're doing anything, then they should make a mental note of it. )
As for their identities, it's too soon to tell if they're remains left behind.
( he pauses, thinking as he moves closer to add while processing his opinions on the matter. where add has specific features that make him him, there's no defining traits on the shadow bodies that komaeda can tell. ) This place looks so hopeless, and if they're just husks... then the amount of despair they're going through must be painful...
( but can they even feel? if the shadows are able to die? or whatever that body was they threw in not too long ago. )
no subject
He sighs, silently drumming his fingers on the doorframe now. Still not frozen... but probably starting to get a bit numb from the cold. He glances back at Komaeda instead, looking the other over with a blank expression.]
Hope and despair are human concepts. To an entity of the void, such words hold no meaning. All things come from the void, and all will one day return to it—it's pointless to despair over inevitability.
To feel despair, there would need to be a shred of humanity left in these pathetic husks... what a pitiable existence that would be, huhuhuhu... [He's smiling, but there's a certain hollowness to his laughter, like he's not all there.]
no subject
Hope and despair...?
( right and wrong, black and white is how people tend to compare the two, but everyone knows that despair can't even hold the candle to how hope shines. it's really not that simple as komaeda looks at how the void swirls as if swallowing itself. a never-ending concept that continues beyond their knowledge, what lies at the end is a mystery, and who will be able to explain it at all? )
If they lack hope, then the person who's controlling them must as well, and for those pathetic, lifeless husks living like that... I wouldn't even call it living! What a sight, it makes me sick to my stomach!
( clenching his fist, he sounds offended from the idea of no hope being inside of these bodies, and how he can't imagine life without it. they're meaningless, their existence does nothing for others aside from getting in the way. gritting his teeth, the only thing that passes through his mind is what they should do with them there, and knowing he's unable to get rid of one — he noticed how his hands passed through them. )
Why are they here if they do nothing for the lives that are passing every hurdle to obtain hope?
( and then he stops, returning to that more calm personality he is, he crosses his arms, and his lips pursed into a straight line. )
It's probably best to ignore them, they'd do nothing but get in the way...
no subject
But he knows better now. In the end, everyone dies the same. "Hope" is a meaningless value in the equation of the universe.
He heaves a sigh, vaguely wistful, as he retracts his hand from the void—stiff, numbed, but the damage doesn't appear long-term. Hmm.]
And what are you here for? If this "hope" you desire is so powerful... why are they the ones that walk with purpose? What good is your "hope" in a world like this?
no subject
They're just stepping stones for you and everyone else to overcome...
( he says it like an obvious declaration until his arms drop down towards his sides, while his fingers flex out — one hand silent, but the other playing a soft whirr of its mechanical parts moving. he means this, he really does, and if the way add's eyes stared into the void wasn't enough to influence komaeda's decision, he makes sure to point it out. his own eyes gaze gently at the ever-consuming void, watching as it swirls and pools into the floor without stopping. )
My hope is still here — ( quickly, his eyes remove from the void, to peering at add himself. ) You'll find purpose throughout all of this...
( how does he explain his thinking, because trash like him doesn't deserve hope, and instead, he'll help advance others, nurture them even if they don't ask for it. as long as someone around him has hope, his interest, his wants, and his feelings are all rooted into them — that's enough for komaeda to live freely, to walk with purpose on his own. )
Your interest in the void is just the start, and once you find the answer... you'll proceed further, because this won't be your end.
no subject
[He can't help but laugh—it's a fuller, livelier laugh than his more subdued kukukus, because a statement like that is just completely ridiculous to him. This guy is invested in his "hope"?]
I have no purpose here. This is... merely a whim of mine. An entertaining distraction.
[If he really wanted to leave, he would—his time is infinite, and a plunge into the endless void would hardly be a first for him. He doesn't feel restrained by this place, despite its best efforts. He would persevere, as he always has, and what happens in this world is of no consequence to him. So how can he say he has any purpose here?
Ridiculous. What a weird guy.]
My goals cannot be achieved in this place, so I don't care about the answers or if I even find them... if you want a hero to put your "hope" into, you'll have to find someone else to play pretend with, kekekeke.
no subject
( stated simple as that, not even a care in the world as the other explains his end of things. komaeda listens, but he's not truly listening, because he's already said what he's said. he's too invested already in the hope that others have, and if add lacks that, then komaeda will have to do his best to help him won't he? )
I said that already! It's just a mere stepping stone, this place, and once you're past this....
( even if he doesn't know himself, komaeda doesn't mind taking a few moments out his life to explain it to him. walking over to the other, he laughs softly as his hand raises dismissing everything add has said for his own. )
The void... everything will come together.
( because in this world, the void appears to be absolute, that everything works around it. the transfers such as themselves can't go around it, and the shadows are pulled towards the abyss. add may not know it, but his whim, his entertaining distraction is all connected. )
...Ah, why do you say "hero"? It doesn't matter to me... as long as there's hope. ( because whoever has hope can become the absolute good, there's no need to say komaeda's searching for a hero. anyway, he glances back to the void, and then back to add — when this bitch is stuck here in a week he'll realize this void is a stepping stone mr. breaks it wider. )
no subject
Aren't heroes the ones you're supposed to hope for...? Kuku, I suppose you are a strange one.
Believe what you want. None of this matters to me either... so if that's the place you want to find your "hope", go ahead. I'll look forward to your disappointment.
[but anyway... despite everything he just said about not caring and doing everything on a whim, he did come here for a reason today. He turns to face Komaeda fully, taking a step closer to hand him... a rope.]
If you want to make yourself useful, hold the other end of this.