etrayamods: (Default)
∎ ETRAYA MODS ∎ ([personal profile] etrayamods) wrote in [community profile] etrayamemes2026-04-03 09:40 am

TDM 013

Event Summary
Genre: Courtly Fantasy/Surreal Workplace/Comedy

Premise: New arrivals find themselves stepping out of their home worlds through mirrors into Parc Monceau, a theme park built by Aurora and her companion bots for the current in game mission.

Tone: Lighthearted, with a side of murder.

Objectives:Complete assigned jobs and integrate into park operations, participate in mandatory team building activities, and don't forget to clock in and out for your shifts!

❬ ARRIVAL ❭
Arrival does not go as expected. Within one of the theme parks exists a Hall of Mirrors, which reflects back duplicates of those who look within them. However, starting on April 3rd, it isn't just duplicates in the mirrors.

All sorts of strange people materialize and walk through the reflected glass. While certainly paranormal, given the last several weeks within Parc Monceau, it's hardly surprising. These materialized people don’t tend to stick around too long, and all of them typically dissipate with the morning light. But some do not.

Parc Monceau presents itself as a living painting - an idealized vision of aristocratic Europe, where every guest and staff member alike becomes part of the performance. Every guest who steps within its' borders is expected to become part of that illusion, and are provided with elaborate costumes to do so. Sculpted hedges, manicured gardens, and elegant fountains paint a pretty picture outside the massive castle, while within it, the walls are decorated with pretty paintings and stained glass. The park focuses on immersive experiences over rides: cuisine that feels drawn from personal memory, reenactments that seem almost too familiar, and intimate attractions like the Tunnel of Love where honesty comes unbidden. Everything here is polished to perfection and just slightly uncanny - an illusion of refinement that invites you to step in and play your part.

On the horizon, one can spot evidence of other theme parks. New arrivals may wander from theme park to theme park to their hearts content, but they cannot exit the parks themselves without dissipating until they are accepted into the game.

As Etrayans filter in for their work, it becomes apparent that the staff has unexpectedly grown. Newcomers who have come into Etraya through mirrors do not yet have earpieces nor network access.

But there is no time to explore, the bots descend upon you and anyone else that does not fizzle with dawn breaking, including established Etrayans. They will bring you back to a central point behind fences, trees, and facades into a modest, dingy office building.
❬ BASE OF OPERATIONS ❭
The office building looks like it does not get much use, but it still requires swipe badges to get inside. These will be handed out with a lanyard, alongside temporary earpieces to assist with translation. It has two floors and an elevator to navigate between them. Each floor has cubicles, storage rooms with props, costumes, and materials pertaining to the parks.

There is a conference room, which contains a long table with an overhead projector and a case of slides. This is where the bots will leave you to meet and mingle with your brand new coworkers! The slide on the projector reads:

"TIPS AND TRICKS TO SAVE YOUR WORLD:"
   ✔️Try not to die too often!
   ✔️Know when to compete and when to collaborate!
   ✔️Networking!


There are some activity stations with supplies and instructions to ease and hasten this meeting, as everyone really must get back to work.

Get ready for team building activities!
  • Explain briefly what Etraya is about.
  • Ask a question about your partner’s strengths and weaknesses.
  • Headbands with a deck of cards. Without looking, place a card into your headband. Your teammate will do the same. Take turns asking questions to try to figure out what you are before your partner.
  • Communicate what sort of animal you think you would be, without writing it down or saying it. Acting only!
  • Dress up day! It is a box of costumes. Put some pieces on and take a picture with the provided Polaroid camera. These pictures will be pinned up on the bulletin board.
  • Fix a bad mood! Smile broadly at another teammate and point to your smile to remind them to stay positive!
  • Get to know you, or else! Take turns asking each other questions. For every question your cohort doesn’t answer, they must instead drink a packet of hot sauce!
  • Mocktail station. It’s what we had in the vending machine! Make your new coworker a beverage. Please be mindful to not take too much ice.

There is a break room with a fridge full of yogurt and coffee creamer, alongside bagged lunches. Outside of the park, this will be your reliable location to find sustenance!

A little down the hall, the staff locker room has enough lockers for everyone to store their things, and a dozen stalls with showers and toilets. Toothbrushes and toothpaste is provided - but please label your toothbrush with the provided permanent marker! Some of them are the same color and design, and we'd just hate to see any toothbrush fights.

There is a room with a plaque labeled "emergency lockdown supplies". It's open, and there's a stack of sleeping bags and pillows along with a box of first aid kits and flashlights.

And at the end of the hall is the security office with dozens of screens showing the goings-on in the parks. The closet here contains dog-catching poles, handcuffs, and duct tape. Just in case.

When you go to leave, there is a punch clock with a spot to swipe the badge attached to your lanyard. It will print out a "Hi! My name is____" sticker with a random job printed at the bottom. This will be your assigned job for the day. These jobs seem utterly randomly generated, a slapdash effort to include and integrate newcomers. They range from the absurdity of "hot dog collector" to a bit more realistic yet vague, like "survey maker".

When the day is done, you are to swipe your badge to properly clock out.

Those who forget to make have a very strange night, indeed.
❬ SLEEPSTALKER ❭
Those who forget to punch out may find themselves sleepwalking into the spare costumes department out back and donning a random mascot costume. From there, you will have strange nightmares as you chase those who are up and about in the parks. What you do with them is really up to you.

To those inside the office building, the only hint that this may even be happening is via security camera surveillance. From there, perhaps a plan for capture and intervention can be staged. Hopefully, the sleepwalker has not lost their badge and can be safely clocked out to return them to normal. Or they will need to be cut out of the costume if this solution does not come to the others.

If someone decides or happens to kill a Sleepwalker, they won’t stay dead for long. They will get back up, though seemingly fused and mutated horribly with their costume. Better kill them again for good measure. Hopefully that will fix it.

Sleepwalkers cannot be woken up normally and will not remember anything that happened in this state.
❬ NOTES ❭
📌 — This TDM exists within the current Etraya mission, a vast multi-theme park with four separate themes.

📌 — New arrivals can explore the theme parks, but are otherwise confined to this general area. Etrayans can bring them things from outside in the meantime if necessary. More information on the theme parks can be found on the mission log, but reading it isn't necessary to interact with the TDM!

📌 — Etrayans are welcome to spend the night in the office building or the park itself to try to figure out why this is all happening.

📌 — This TDM works as a mini fourth-wall. If wanted, those in game are free to remember those who appear out of the Hall of Mirrors regardless of if they app into the game.

📌 — New arrivals will not yet lose points, but dying too many times may have consequences. Please let us know if you die. Thanks!
meingottbestie: (14)

Franziska von Karma 💼 Ace Attorney

[personal profile] meingottbestie 2026-04-03 05:17 pm (UTC)(link)
🎡 Arrival
"Enough!" Franziska digs in her heels quite literally with the companion bots trying to usher her along to wherever it is they would have her dragged off towards. While absolutely unwilling to even slightly acknowledge let alone admit how overwhelmed she feels in this precise moment, Franziska does not have an adequate grasp on her current surroundings or situation that she's willing to simply go along wherever she is directed. Turning away from the robots, Franziska zeroes in on the nearest humanoid she can spot. "You there!"

And if there is any question who she might be beckoning, Franziska points directly at the Etrayan she's spotted whether they're completing a task or simply trying to enjoy a day at the Parc.

"You will explain to me immediately what is going on."

Whoever it is had better start talking, or a finger won't be the only thing pointed at them. Attempts to ignore her or not respond will be swiftly met with a crack of the whip at her side.


📌 Base of Operations
"Is this some kind of joke?" Franziska scoffs. She currently has a headband, but it is not on her head. Franziska instead allows it to dangle, pinched between two fingers. The dichotomy between what information she's received about Etraya and the current situation, and this are a stark contrast from one another. "All the worlds are supposedly ending, and they would have us play foolish games made for foolish children?"

Truly, the universe is doomed.

Well, Franziska von Karma is not going to be one to sit about idly. She tosses the headband directly into the nearest trash bin where it belongs, and swiftly exits the conference room. She does not get far until she's directed to the punch clock. Franziska has half a mind to simply move right past the companion bots and go her own way, but decides it is faster to simply comply rather than argue. Swiping the badge, she takes the sticker, but does not bother looking at it.

Not that it would do her much good were she to care. Assistant with no further description is a bit too vague to direct her towards anything in particular.

Which could be potentially frustrating for her when someone in need of an assistant runs into her, but who would do something like that?


👨‍⚖️ ooc;
Prose or brackets is entirely fine, and I will match your style! Feel free to riff on the above prompts, or make something else up entirely, but if you need to run anything by me first, feel free to PM or hit me up on plurk ([plurk.com profile] rebreather. But genuinely, feel free to go nuts.
lockdownbuild: (pic#17988102)

Arrival

[personal profile] lockdownbuild 2026-04-03 05:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Considering their location, Aliarra has to wonder if this girl thinks she's part of the exhibit. The only thing keeping her from blending in perfectly with this facade of medieval mummery is not looking fancy enough in her ordinary clothing, which otherwise hails from the same sort of aesthetic as the park invokes. Between that and how ridiculously rude the question is, Aliarra finds herself pausing in disbelief.

Just a bit too long. When the whip cracks, it leaves behind a rather heavy tension. Aliarra can be! Is! Diplomatic! But when weapons come out, you don't mess around. She sticks out one hand, just in time to wrap her fingers around the haft of a polearm that descends from the sky in a wash of holy fire to slam into the ground in perfect position.

"What, precisely, do you want explained?" she says, as neutral as she can be with a potential battle line drawn.
halfshit: (Default)

[personal profile] halfshit 2026-04-03 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Would anything in particular happen if somebody started breaking the mirrors in the Hall of Mirrors?
intrepidness: (Default)

[personal profile] intrepidness 2026-04-03 08:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Nike has the ability to connect to world's by hearing their voice and sensing its emotions, in order to control the weather (and other fun abilities that I may or may not use at all). With her at the theme park, what will she pick up in her initial surroundings feeling-wise? Will she quickly notice it isn't her world? Or if it is artificial vs nature-wise? What time period would the European theme park be? I want to assume medieval, but I want to be absolutely certain before writing her top level because this girl observes everything.

Without the earpiece, what type of language would she hear? (Japanese is the only language in her canon world even if the setting is medieval European times.)
meingottbestie: (13)

[personal profile] meingottbestie 2026-04-03 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Although the sudden appearance of flame does cause Franziska to lean back for a moment, she does not look intimidated nor as though she is a combatant preparing to enter into a battle regardless of the whip in her hand. She just looks severely annoyed already. And for good reason. Franziska still remembers entirely how tedious the testimonies were from the performers from Berry Big Circus, and she can only assume with such a flashy little trick (that she's certain Maximillion Galactica could outdo) means she is in for more of the same.

"Ugh, you foolish circus performers and your foolish antics," she says with a roll of her eyes, shrugging off the companion bot that had nervously begun placing itself between Franziska and the other woman. Franziska rests her hand on her hip. "The question was quite clear. That you do not understand it tells me that you are incapable of answering it. Run along and make with your tricks with a different audience."
lockdownbuild: (ALR4)

[personal profile] lockdownbuild 2026-04-03 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Sighing, Aliarra lifts her free hand to rub her forehead with her fingers.

"Setting aside that it wasn't a question in the first place, your request was entirely without context. 'What is going on' is a question that has any number of potential layers. What is going on at this moment? What is going on with this ridiculous pastiche of the average Material Plane? What is going on with your presence here? What is going on with the multiverse at large? So no, the statement was inherently unclear from the beginning."

Plenty of people think she's just dumb muscle, possibly understandably, but she's not. She's got a magic belt for that. And maybe she ought to me more understanding herself, but she's tired, deeply cynical about everything at this point, and ready for a break.

"Also, the pulling-a-weapon thing really changes the tone of the conversation even for perfectly clear and polite questions, so there's that."
halfshit: (oo4)

shirley dander | slow horses

[personal profile] halfshit 2026-04-03 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL
[There's a long, harrowing moment in which Shirley is quite confident she's fully cracked. Lost her entire mind, started hallucinating and all. The whole world had been spinning when she'd banged and slammed her way out of Slough House, from adrenaline and rage and a deep nauseous despair with no outlet, spinning round and round until it had spun sideways and now she's here, like Alice in Bloody Fucking Wonderland staring at her reflection in a carnival hall of mirrors.

There are bloodstains on her jumper, still damp, where the Frenchman's blood had come spattering out of his head. Her hair's tousled. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. All around her, the reflections seem to mock her. Some are standard carnival mirror distortions, others... She looks happy in one. Maybe how she'd look in a different universe where things worked out better and she wasn't a slow fucking horse being oh so slowly turned into glue. One of them isn't even her, it's—

She punches the mirror. And then she punches it again. It shatters with a satisfying crack, shards of broken glass raining down on her. Her knuckles are bloody, but she doesn't care. Just keeps punching, lets out a yell for good measure. Here's an outlet, and it's not a meaningful one, but breaking things feels good, the bright sharp pain of the cuts on her hand feel good compared to the sick twisting in her stomach, and so she doesn't stop until she hears someone else's footsteps echoing through the corridor.

Quickly, she grabs a shard of glass from the ground to use as a makeshift knife. If it cuts her palm a bit, she doesn't really notice. What's one more cut right now? All her destruction has created enough of a blind spot in the mirrors' reflections that whoever's coming hopefully won't see her as she rounds a corner, flattens her back against the wall, and waits.

The plan: ambush the person coming. Grab them, put the glass shard to their throat and demand answers about where she is and what the fuck is going on.]

II. BASE OF OPERATIONS
[There's still blood on her jumper. A few crumbs fall on it as Shirley gnaws miserably on a sandwich out of a bagged lunch she found in the fridge. (She doesn't know who the lunch belongs to. Doesn't care. No name on the bag makes it basically communal property, right, no matter how many Helpful Refrigerator Flow Charts Catherine hangs on the Slough House office fridge that asks any scroungers whether they brought in the food they're about to eat and, if not, to please not eat it.) She debates picking at the crumbs – the blood's dry now, it's not like she'd be getting it all over her fingers – but opts to let them lie. Jumper's ruined anyway.

Around a mouthful of bacon, lettuce, and tomato, she addresses the poor sod she's paired off with for this particular exercise.]


Go on, then. Strengths and weaknesses or whatever.

[She doesn't much care about the answer, beyond it being a potential useful piece of information if this person ends up being secretly evil or something and she has to fight them. In which they'd just lie anyway.

She takes another bite of the sandwich.]

III. SLEEPSTALKER
[Having raided every office and closet for anything remotely useful lying around – she's grabbed a torch from emergency supplies and a pair of handcuffs and a roll of duct tape from the security office, and stuffed them all into her jacket pockets – Shirley is sitting in a chair in front of the security cameras with her feet up on the desk, swiveling idly, eyes glued to the screens. It's boring, but not like she was gonna sleep anyway. And god knows staring at security cameras is more familiar and makes a fuck of a lot more sense than anything else that's happened today.

When she clocked out earlier, she'd gotten a little print-out sticker that says: "Hi! My name is Shirley :)" and "Personal Soup Aide." The sticker is currently stuck to her blood-stained jumper, half-hidden beneath her jacket.

Something on one of the monitors catches her eye. If she had to describe it, she'd call it "Disneyland actor who's finally snapped," or maybe, "the thing the security guard sees in the horror movie right before they die." Which doesn't bode well for her.]


Jesus Christ, [she mutters under her breath as she starts hurrying towards the place that camera covers, fast enough to hopefully catch whatever it was, careful enough that hopefully she'll be able to sneak up on it. She might run into it, or might run into somebody else who remembered to clock out.]

IV. WILDCARD
[Anything else that strikes your fancy! I'm available at [plurk.com profile] sprucemoose for plotting, or feel free to just wing it!]
awayout: (oo6)

clea | clair obscur: expedition 33

[personal profile] awayout 2026-04-03 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL: HALL OF MIRRORS (CW: SUICIDAL IDEATION, THOUGHTS OF SELF-HARM), (SPOILERS FOR C0:E33 ACT 3)
[Verso—

Time stretches endlessly, days pass in years, seconds pass in hours, on and on like a river wearing a new path through its bed until it's completely changed the course of her. How long has she spent in the twisted ruins of her home, alone save for the monsters she paints and the ghost of a boy who isn't quite her brother.

Her brother.

Her brother is alive, she saw him. Verso—

She stands in the hall of mirrors and contemplates the stranger that she sees. Her skin looks like old paint, faded and flaking, gold smeared here and there across the grey. Her hair's gone white. In another mirror, she appears in full colour, her eyes cold and sharp. In another there's nothing but a scattering of flower petals. In another, a woman who looks similar to her, her same ice-grey eyes staring back at her, but older, her face narrower and strained with age: her mother. In another, there's just a smear of oil paint.

Time stretches endlessly, but at last, she thinks, she could end it. She is no longer a puppet dancing on another woman's strings. Her mind is clear now; she can escape the prison of it. She can ensure she only ever Paints one more, one final instrument of death.

As she turns, she catches a glimpse of another reflection: a girl. Small and monochrome, staring sadly up at her from behind a white porcelain half-mask with her one pale eye. She stops, and reaches out a hand.]

II. ARRIVAL: PARC MONCEAU (CW: SUICIDAL IDEATION, THOUGHTS OF SELF-HARM), (SPOILERS FOR C0:E33 ACT 3)
[She exits the hall of mirrors, exits the castle, ignores passersby as they glance – and then glance again, as though not quite believing their eyes – at the girl with the grey and gold skin. She walks down a gravel path between two hedges. The sun is warm on her skin for the first time in a lifetime; the scent of flowers and the lilting harmonies of birdsong recall a childhood near-forgotten. Was any of it real? Did she once sit with her brother in Lumière's hanging gardens, sketching the finches while he murmured about his day? Did she once play with her sister on the manor grounds, smelling the roses in their manicured beds while the much littler girl scuffed her knees in the dirt? Or has she always been this: a prisoner, trapped in her own head and forged to paint death.

Finally, she reaches an open space and Paints a chevaliere. It's a tall, spindly creature of tarnished metal, a long, slender sword in its grasp. The effort takes time, takes energy, and she finds herself tired. Funny that. She hasn't felt weariness, nor hunger, nor thirst, in so long that she'd forgotten what it was like.

She raises her hand, and it raises the sword. Anyone who comes across her here will see a young woman with white hair, dressed in sturdy working clothes that would put her at home among the Bohemian artists of early 20th century Montmartre, her feet bare, her skin a pale, gold-mottled grey flaking like old paint. An empty suit of armour, eight or nine feet tall, looms above her, still as a museum piece with its sword leveled at her heart.

She stands in silence, and contemplates the sword.]

III. BASE OF OPERATIONS
[Clea regards the box icily. It's absurd. More than absurd, it's obscene. Like the gaping maw of a pitch-black cavern, its guts crawling with unseen horrors, the box looms before her, doubly foreboding for its unassuming, seemingly innocent appearance. Bracing herself for the worst, she reaches reluctantly into its dark, unknowable depths and lifts out a pair of oversized fuzzy mouse ears on a headband.]

I take it we're meant to be playing children's dress-up games.

[The disdain in her voice is thick as molasses.

There is a great deal about this place that she doesn't understand. There is a great deal that she has endured. But for all the enigmas and all the nightmares haunting her past, she's not sure she's ever suffered quite so baffling or quite so severe a blow to her dignity as this.]

IV. WILDCARD
[Anything else that strikes your fancy! I'm available at [plurk.com profile] sprucemoose for plotting, or feel free to just wing it!]
fortitudosalutis: (019)

Arrival

[personal profile] fortitudosalutis 2026-04-04 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
[ Carver makes a point of doing his rounds whenever there's a chance in the environment. New people show up at weird times, on no predictable pattern he's been able to find. And so he checks because one day someone familiar and welcome like Bossie might show up or there might be an enemy like Dixon, and it's best to be prepared either way.

It's different this time. New ground, weirder ground, mirrors showing him strange, distorted versions of himself and all his sins.

He knows the sound of breaking glass, though. Of someone shouting. And why not investigate.

He keeps a hand on his knife as he approaches, calm and controlled. ]
halfshit: (oo2)

[personal profile] halfshit 2026-04-04 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
[Shirley adjusts her grip on the glass, coils up her muscles as she readies herself to attack. The upside of smashing the mirrors is, of course, that the person coming can't see her around the corner. The downside is that she can't see them, either. Male or female, big or small, civilian or cold-blooded assassin; could be anyone, as far as she knows. But she listens for any signs that could give away who she's dealing with, and she waits.

Waits until the footsteps come closer, until she can hear breathing.

No apparent surprise or panic in response to seeing all the broken glass. Nobody calling out, asking who's there, if she's okay. Not running the other way, either, just calmly walking towards her. More likely to be a pro, then.

When she's fairly certain her target is as close as they can get without spotting her, she springs out of hiding.

The brain's got to assess fast in these sorts of situations, and act on that assessment even faster. He's bigger and taller than she is – not an accomplishment, that – and he's got a hand on a knife. She aims for that hand with one of hers, trying to hit it away from the knife hilt as, with her other hand, she tries to press the glass against his throat while shoving him up against the wall.]
fortitudosalutis: (089)

[personal profile] fortitudosalutis 2026-04-04 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's been a while since someone's gone at him so openly. But there's something so familiar and easy in the threat assessment that Carver's first thought upon having an opponent lunge at him is, thank God.

This one's even got a weapon.

He grins. And then he knees her right in the gut. ]
halfshit: (oo7)

[personal profile] halfshit 2026-04-04 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
[Yeah, definitely not a civilian.

Probably not Service either, by the looks of him. Mercenary, maybe.

With a grunt, Shirley doubles over as the wind is knocked out of her. But just as soon as she's bent down, she slams her shoulder into his gut, trying once again to knock him into the wall.

At the same time, she reaches for his knife, trying to grab it away from him.]
arever: (sunlight)

i, spoilers all the way down

[personal profile] arever 2026-04-04 01:05 am (UTC)(link)
[How long has she been trapped in this mirrored labyrinth? Realistically, it's only been a little while, not even an hour. But time seems to stretch on endlessly with how many reflections she sees. Always red hair, red hair--

There. There's a reflection somewhere in the distance that's of darker hair, of a taller build. Alicia's heart jumps because she recognizes it, but she creeps forward hesitantly. It could be a trick. It could be the other Clea.

The woman standing in front of the mirror isn't the Clea that Alicia remembers. She looks strange, more a representation of living paint than ever. She looks... like Alicia does.

Upon seeing her sister, she makes a small wheezy sound of surprise. If Clea turns, there's another reflection, except this time it's really the younger sister, staring at her with one wide eye. It's her Clea, her Clea, and that feels impossible.]
fortitudosalutis: (076)

[personal profile] fortitudosalutis 2026-04-04 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ That's fun. She doesn't immediately crumble. Keeps going for him, even though he's got the clear height and weight advantage. Carver staggers back a step from the blow, teeth bared.

Shame is for the dead so he just grabs her by the hair and wrenches hard. Instinct says to shove the knife through her skull but he's trying not to be that fucking man anymore. ]


Enough, [ he spits, aiming a kick to her knee to destabilized. If that doesn't work, he'll just bash her head into the wall and work from there. ]
intrepidness: (running towards)

[personal profile] intrepidness 2026-04-04 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
MODS YOU GAVE ME A WHOLE LOT TO WORK WITH THANK YOU!

Nike is fighting everyone again round 2! She will make every NPC regret not giving her the new toys from the very beginning because she is resisting!
intrepidness: (glare)

nike lemercier || the world is beautiful || ota || test driving

[personal profile] intrepidness 2026-04-04 02:16 am (UTC)(link)
[The first thing she notices is the silence underneath everything. Not lack of sound. There's plenty of that in her surroundings. But the other kind. The kind that usually answers back whenever she reaches toward it.

Leaving the hall of mirrors without a second thought or glance, Nike decides to search for anything green and natural. Once she finds it, she presses her hand flat against the nearest hedge and reaches the way she usually does into the wordless inward pull that has never once gone unanswered her entire life.

The world is not reaching back or communicating with her.

She pulls her hand away. Looks up at a sky that is beautiful in a way that makes the back of her neck prickle. Opens her throat just slightly, begins to sing a song, but...

Nothing moves.]


...okay.

[She's still looking all over her new surroundings with the intention to find any large body of water available when something approaches her that is shaped like a person but moves like it has never learned how.

It reaches for her.]


No.

[It keeps coming. She ducks under its arm with the ease of someone who grew up with older sisters, puts gravel between them, and turns with her arms crossed and her chin up.]

I don't know who you are or what you want, but... [She plants her feet firmly on the ground while her hands are now on her hips.] I'm not going anywhere with you! Not without answers! I'll fight you even if you're made of metal!

[She will make every bot assigned to her regret today.]
betenoir: (014)

ii | e33 spoilers

[personal profile] betenoir 2026-04-04 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
[The presence of chroma in this world is a peculiar thing. Not a single smear should exist. There are flecks here and there, expeditioners who act like they know everything, while not knowing they are unimportant. Their presence is nothing more than sands in the hourglass. His wife afforded them no attention. He hunted them because they made it necessary, frustrated and angry because he would rather spend his time with people he loves.

Instead, every year he slaughtered those who tortured his children. None of them (besides the two responsible) are guilty as individuals but that matters not. Their ideals remain the same and their minds share the same drive.

But the sliver he feels is nothing like theirs.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of his cane haunts her throughout the mirrors. It follows outside the castle and down the path, close enough to hear but not to talk. She feels strange and looks stranger - but that hardly matters.

He stands in silence and contemplates the sight of her contemplating death.]
Edited 2026-04-04 02:21 (UTC)
galacticambition: (the journey)

Marx | Kirby

[personal profile] galacticambition 2026-04-04 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
1: Arrival - Attempted Robotslaughter
“Hey hey hey, back off!”

The 'Five Ws and H' from unknowingly stepping foot into the unknown were forcibly put on the back burner, as a round and armless jester was being carried off by a bunch of mindless drones.

“Let go of me, ya tin cans!”

Is it wrong for an innocent to retaliate in the name of self-defense and especially if prior warnings had been outright ignored?

Whatever the appropriate answer might be, the seemingly defenseless puffball was currently throwing an assortment of attacks at the mechanical kidnappers. Whether it made a dent or more to their metal shells was anyone’s guess, but Marx has no intention to go down without a fight.


2: Base of Operations - If You Don’t Work…
Apparently Marx had little say in the matter, since his stint with the bots had rewarded him with some noticeable bruises rather than his freedom.

So now he’s inside some generic building with a bunch of random nobodies he’d never seen before in his entire life. But hey, at least there's a generous supply of yogurt and bagged lunch!

With a black hole for a stomach, that one crumb of good news outweighed the pile of annoyances by far. As long as there’s food - and tasty ones at that - then he’ll put his best foot forward by being a cooperative member of Team STW(aka Save The World)… for now.

“Alright, what’s the plan?”


3: Sleepstalker - Cause this is Thriller, Thriller Night~
As a citizen of Dreamland - a well-known area and target within the Planet Popstar - sleep and other related activities were more than commonplace. The jester sleepwalking(or in this case, sleepflying) in a themed costume while in his True Form was definitely not.

If the expression on Marx’s face was any indication, then something had gone terribly wrong. The puffball clearly looked distressed but also in a zombified state; what’s going on?


Jester’s Wildcard - Anything goes
Feel free to PM [personal profile] galacticambition or [plurk.com profile] delulumon if you wish to plot, ask questions, or whatever else you might have in mind. Character info, permissions, opt-out, and other such things are in the journal. And no need to worry about matching tag length, style, or anything of that sort. It’s mostly me wanting to improve on my writing and enjoying the process.
what_is_a_man: (Legends // You're not like other humans.)

Re: mod queries.

[personal profile] what_is_a_man 2026-04-04 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
So, quick question regarding the bots abilities. Would the bots have any way to corral characters with the ability to turn themselves incorporeal, like Dracula's mist form?
meingottbestie: (08)

[personal profile] meingottbestie 2026-04-04 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
Franziska folds her arms as the woman goes on. And on. And on. Not that she was looking for her point to be proven, but this is certainly doing just that the longer she talks without providing any explanation.

"My whip does as it wills, and fools who waste my time answer to it." Aforementioned whip creaks as she gives it a slight tug, but Franziska does not lash out with it a second time. "You should be grateful it was only the once, and it did not interrupt your foolish, rambling response."
beenwaitinglong: (Aroma)

sax intensifies i am so sorry

[personal profile] beenwaitinglong 2026-04-04 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
"Analyst."

Ripped out of one hellish reality and into a strange one, told the world is ending, put to work for a bunch of obnoxious robots, and he's given a nametag that reads "analyst" with no further elaboration. He'd make a joke about red tape but, well...

After spending roughly ten minutes kicking his feet up on his desk, Godot grows bored of the idle rebellion. They want to make him an analyst? He'd better go find something to analyze. Like the coffee machine in the break room. Seems like that could use a good, thorough analysis.

It takes a bit for him to find the coffee, stashed in a closet nowhere near the break room-- presumably because the robots don't drink any. Arms full with a box of coffee, he heads back the way he came only to collide with a "coworker" on the way and nearly drop it all.

Nearly, of course. And a real lawyer doesn't fluster at a close collision, either.

"Perdon, there, little lady," he says. "Almost made me drop my box of black magic."
aershari: (I move)

<3~ Nike. I only saw the anime, but.

[personal profile] aershari 2026-04-04 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
It's.....a little disconcerting, huh? The whole. City thing. I'm still not quite used to it, either. Different realms, sure. Whole other worlds? Still kinda getting used to that. Being expected to help save our home. I'm more used to that with all of my friends at my side. Not that I don't have Vax and Percy, here. But.....sorry. I'm rambling again.

[Keyleth is, of course, resting amid the greenery. And probably sometimes a little camouflaged with it, given her tendency to wear green, even if her hair is red. She glances when she hears the other sing, tilting her head.]

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