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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.
elizabeth | persona 4 arena | c:
( While she doesn't expect to find her Compendium here necessarily, libraries are for books - should she be missing a book, as her Compendium can be mistakenly thought of as "just" one of those, then certainly she may find it in the place where books make their home.
Still: there are an awful lot of books, and she has spent the better part of the week she's been drifting in and out of dreaming(?) looking for her tome. At long last, she's going to stalk out of the aisles and —
ah, good, there's someone else here. )
Hello there. Have you perhaps come across a large, leather-bound grimoire while browsing in this house of books? I fear I've misplaced it somehow, though it is not your ordinary sort of book. Inscribed on its surface is a magic circle — I'd daresay that it would stick out like a sore toe among its otherwise visually-similar kin.
「an ordinary high school life」
It's been quite some time since I was in a real high school, with real students... The one the P-1 Grand Prix took place in was quite visually similar - very ancestral... No, I don't believe that's quite the word either, but it's something like that.
( ...She's talking to another student, an NPC, who probably thinks she's just a weirdo. Which, to be fair: she is. )
I must say, however, this school is the first one I've been able to wear the uniform of... I don't mind it, but I wish that it were blue instead. ( Hmmm... ) Do you suppose I would get into trouble should I find a way to rectify this problem? Oh, how exciting - the opportunity to be punished for some nefarious yet innocent crime!
( someone save this soul- )
「don't eat the meat」
( Elizabeth doesn't technically need food (normally), but she's never been one to spurn the chance to try something new - and the note on the fridge only serves to intrigue her, not stop her. Thus she's taken everything - Everything - out of the home ec room's fridge, and also all of the cabinets, and is currently surveying each one of them; all of the food and ingredients are laid out in rows so that she can walk between them, hmming and peering at them closely. )
My... I wonder what one could make with all of this? Perhaps the fabled "hotpot," where one places all manner of meat and thinly-sliced vegetables into a deliciously-flavored sauna and consumes them once they are properly cooked.
( She pauses, both in speaking and mid-step — she keeps perfect balance as she considers something, looking around the room... and sets her foot down, frowning slightly. )
And yet a "hotpot" requires a particular sort of pot, does it not? None of the ones I found seem to be suited for such a purpose...
high school lifeeee
...I think it depends on how you go about it. If you make a mess, the janitor might make you sit in the mop bucket for the rest of the day.
[ Is this the opportunity she wants? Slightly painful, very boring. ]
no subject
The janitor... Yes, he who has mastered all cleaning techniques known to mankind - he who faces down vile and disgusting foes without breaking a sweat. He would certainly prove to be an interesting opponent, though I fear this may be the one battle I would lose. I am not very experienced in cleaning. ( She's not really inclined to learn about it either. Cleaning isn't going to help her.
Unless......... She looks at Rokkun. Yes... Unless... ) If we were to both make a mess of things, would you be punished alongside me?
no subject
Neither am I, so it'd be best if we don't get punished at all, don't you think? He makes his rounds after school, near the end of club so there's less people around. We'd have time.
no subject
Yet the blue is more important, so she'll nod in agreement. )
Then it's decided. You and I will turn these clothes of mine a brilliant blue! Now, where shall we procure the pigment of our perfect plan? ( (Oh she loves alliteration.) ) And, furthermore, my good man... How ever shall we change its color? Were this my usual time and place, I would simply snap my fingers and find one of similar make, yet of the color I desire - but such things are not possible in the real world.
no subject
Real world's kind of relative, but let's see... Unless you're satisfied with just the shirt underneath, we'll need to bleach the black out of your uniform, and then we can dye it. It'll be like tie-dying, except not as cool.
no subject
I would prefer all of it to be blue, yes, however - tie-dying... That sounds rather fun. Were we to engage in such a thing, would we steal the strips of fabric from around the teachers' necks and use them to color my uniform? ( That sounds like that'd just y'all in more trouble, Elizabeth...?? ) Heehee... How intriguing - but I believe such fun will have to wait until I have assuredly dyed at least one of my uniforms. Please lead the way on this...
( ...................................... )
My, but it would seem I have forgone introductions once again. I cannot hope to achieve my wish if I do not collect the names of those who lend a hand... ( ahem. ) I am Elizabeth, though considering the volume of students here who have greeted me in days prior, you may already know that - however, your name escapes me. Though you needn't feel too insulted - remembering names is a skill I am attempting to hone as wed speak.
no subject
Wha- [ He can't help but laugh at the interpretation of tie-dying, leading her to the teacher's lounge but making a turn at the janitor's closet instead— not without cracking the door open first and peering inside to make sure said janitor isn't hiding in there ready to whip their asses.
Bleach, bleach... ]
I know who you are. [ He finds a gallon and hands it to Elizabeth, then grabs several pairs of gloves. ] My name's Rokuro Arata. Are you just collecting and remembering names, or are you matching them with faces and people too?
no subject
Hmmm. ( She takes the bleach and weighs it in her hand... Yes, it certainly has some heft to it. Oh, right, the question- ) The latter, I believe... Forming bonds is not simply about memorizing the names of those you meet, but about engaging with them - one cannot do that basic task without remembering which name goes with which person. I suppose.
( SHE'S....... WORKING ON IT...... )
Regardless, it is a pleasure to have your name, Rokuro. Hee... It's quite invigorating to speak someone's name rather than referring to them by some sort of title. ( c: this is so fun. ) Do you have friends, Rokuro?
no subject
I have at least one, I think! One who questionably knows my name.
[ Who calls him Rokkun, which can be seen as a nickname but we know better. Are they friends, when Komaeda's failed step one? ]
I get what you mean, though. Getting called "taichou" or "senpai" all day gets kinda impersonal...
no subject
"Transfer student" this, "transfer student" that...
( ...at least talking a little gets that taken care of, but still. )
I'm quite surprised you have only one, maybe - I was under the impression those blessed with looks were popular, particularly with the ladies. Perhaps you have so little friends because, as they say, "The women want you, and the men want to beat you".
( pause. )
Beat you...? Beef with you...? Anyway, something like that.
no subject
[ His very charming personality, or something. He's a good kind senpai? Or something. ]
Too bad for the men who want to beat me or have beef with me. I'll always come out on top.
no subject
Artists are historically rather weak... How would you fight those who would oppose you?
no subject
[ ?? ??? That's different from being an artist, presumably, and also presumably answers her question. ]
no subject
...An architect is a type of artist - a master at their craft - but I suppose some differences lay between the two... How does that change the playing field? ( ah. ) Are you able to draw up plans of siege weapons and other similar designs, for use against your enemies? How marvelous.
dont eat the meat
the pure white of the milk turns a swirly pink as the blood mixes well within the liquid, and as he sets the lid atop, he's ready to click the button until. he stops, sudden realization hits as he pulls a hand away from the top. )
Hm... Those would be good with this.
( he walks himself from the back, his attention grabbed by someone already inside with him, and the way they pace back and forth surveying their options. everything's pulled out from here and there, and even whatever was in the refrigerator too — what he gauges is that it's a nice selection. ) Excuse me! ( he smiles with a wave, his tone airy, but excitable as he's never seen this person before. )
Can I borrow your bananas?
no subject
You may. I don't believe they belong in the legendary "hotpot" anyway, though I do wonder what it would taste like with one of them... Have you ever had it before?
request
You're right. That don't seem ordinary. [ ITEM REQUEST - Log Updated. ]
I'll letcha know if I see something like that.
no subject
anyway, she nods... appreciative... it's been a while since she got to give out a request like this, so it feels a little weird. elizabeth'll take a seat be...side him, yeah, tables usually have more than one chair. just know she's. writing now. in idk her own notebook, which is distinctly not the one she described. )
What are you writing? If you don't mind me asking.
no subject
Arthur isn't unused to others pulling up alongside him like that, and while he raises his eyebrow, he remains relatively stoic. He's writing on the very very back page of his journal, one of the school-provided ones, and his handwriting is far more flowery than his demeanor would suggest. ]
I keep a journal. This one isn't mine but it helps to have.
no subject
I see! I've never kept one myself, but it seems like such fun to have. Writing all about your day in its sacred pages, the woes of youth and who looked quite cute today... and how large one's master's nose is, and how it seems to be growing ever longer! Though I suppose I have no reference for that last part any longer; it's been quite some time since I was able to see him... I'm certain still that it must have become much longer than before. It is not a beast that can be contained, you see, as they say.
no subject
I'm afraid my writing isn't as interesting.
no subject
I'm certain it cannot be as droll as what either my elder sister nor my younger brother would do. Will you write me an example of it?
no subject
[ The first being his writing itself - it's damn flowery. He doesn't think anything of it, but that mentality is private. The other is the fact 80% of what he writes about is his life at home Doing Very Bad Crimes. ]
Trust me when I tell you I haven't been writing about anyone's nose.