May 2024 Test Drive Meme: The First of Many to Come

[newcomod]

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.”

Welcome to our first meme!

We will officially be opening our game June 1st at 12:01 AM EST.
Reserves will open on May 28th at 12:01 AM EST.
Applications will open on the 1st at 12:01 AM EST.
Applications will close on the 5th at 11:59 PM EST.

Please follow our Plurk newcomb for updates regarding the opening of our game.

Our memes are open to current and prospective players alike.
All Test Drive memes are game canon and serve as a lead-up to the following month's event. The first prompt in each TDM will always coincide with the disastrous circumstances of Penumbra's collision.

This disaster will leave unique supplies or conditions for the following month until the reset in time occurs and a new collision invokes new circumstances.

Most characters upon initial arrival may suffer mild amnesia, fatigue, and diminished powers. Memories, energy, and powers will eventually return. Per player choice, this can be quickly or slowly.

You can use your TDM threads for writing samples on your application.
If you are applying for a new character, you can choose to keep your TDM threads canon to your character or not.

Even if our current players do not engage with the TDM, we strongly recommend they read each TDM to be aware of how Penumbra strikes Newcomb every month. We encourage characters to react to this via network or log posts in the community spaces.

Prompt 1 Prompt 2 Prompt 3 Questions

Premise Taken Applications Navigation

Image Descriptions from left to right: First image is a red train pictured along raised tracks set against pine trees in sunlight, second image is a gif of a train explosion as people flee from the destruction, third image is of a dark sky with orange lightning.

First Train In

Content Warnings.

Violent train crash, fire, explosions, burning, and injuries from such conditions.

Summary

Characters appear in a train that is crashing through the reality rip left behind by the meteor, Penumbra. The train falls onto the campus fields and mostly implodes.

Prompt

Once upon a time, Newcomb had its very own train station that was used by students and staff alike. Most students would arrive at campus via the train and supplies were often shipped in through the train. This very train station used to be located by Fitch End and was one of the first out-of-campus locations to be destroyed by Penumbra.

This month, it seems as if the reset has brought the train back. For a moment, anyway. One may awaken from a deep slumber in one of the passenger cars, groggy and nearly jetlagged. You will be surrounded by other characters waking up, just as disoriented and confused as you are.

The train ride itself isn't so bad though. The scenery beyond the windows is filled with gorgeous sprawling woods, already tinged with the golds and reds of autumn. The smell of pine and old leather fills the train and you will find your backpack in a cubby just above your head or on the seat beside you.

There is no way to exit the train at this point, no matter how one might try. What is the point anyway? Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Something is soothing about a train ride, after all. You may even feel tempted to fall back asleep. Maybe things will make more sense when you wake up again.

You won't have peace for long. The train jolts violently as if being struck by something, and after, everything descends into chaos. Cars begin to slam together, some smashing upward, shattering glass and doors, crushing seats. Explosions burst from the front of the train, and as it pivots onto campus, it scorches the ground.

Cars break apart, sliding into their destruction here and there against buildings or trees. It feels as though it happens both slowly and rapidly, defying time itself, the sound of a ticking clock somehow overwhelming the symphony of metal scraping against metal.

Oil from the train catches fire across campus grounds. While the buildings are fireproof and resilient, the rest of the campus is not and neither are some characters who may be wandering about perchance. As the disaster comes to a screeching halt, characters will have to help each other from the wreckage and help put out the fires.

The train will remain on campus for June. It can be broken apart for metal parts and explored for small, sentimental items or important weapons that belong to a character. The train will vanish in the blink of an eye as midnight hits on the 31st. The Penumbric siren alerts the campus of the reset and the incoming meteor and its potential new disaster.

You will have to brace yourself for what happens next.

Note on Penumbric Collision Prompts: Characters do not need to arrive in this prompt. You may opt-out entirely by having your character fall through the sky or wake up incredibly disoriented randomly on campus. Arrival to Newcomb should be somewhat physically and/or mentally draining or damaging. Even characters resistant to pain or injury will be temporarily vulnerable to the arrival.

Image Descriptions from left to right: First image is a shadowy humanoid with a black and gray smudge effect concealing the face, second image is a pair of hands covered in a black goopy substance, third image has several clear vials containing a smoky, goopy black substance.

Assimilation

Content Warnings.

Mysterious goo-like substance with parasitic qualities, manipulation of behavior, forced uncharacteristic behavior, very mild body horror.

Summary

A mysterious black goo escapes from a frozen boxcar on the train. This goo attaches to living organisms and begins to influence their behavior. The goo will either naturally slide off after some time or can be rubbed off the skin with freezing water.

Prompt

A curious boxcar can be discovered among the wreckage of the train. This boxcar was carefully sealed off and kept at freezing temperatures. Inside were metal crates filled with test tubes and Petri dishes containing a mysterious black goo.

During the fall, the boxcar's front end was ripped away. Between the raging fires from the crash and the exposure to higher temperatures, the vials and petri dishes thawed. Vials and Petri dishes began to break apart as the mysterious goo essentially "woke up" from its cryogenic state and escaped from the glass containers.

This mysterious goo seeks out living organisms and will subtly attach itself to character bodies. This can be as subtle as a dime-sized speck of mysterious goo behind a character's ear or consume half a character's body. The goo's attachment is painless. It has a tarlike odor and causes a strange prickling sensation the longer it remains attached to a character.

After some time, the goo will naturally slide off a character. Alternatively, a character can apply freezing water or ice to the goo and this will essentially "kill" the goo and slough it off in broken chunks.

While the goo is attached to characters, it will cause uncontrollable, unusual behavior. On a less severe end, symptoms may include disorientation, difficulty walking, slurred speech, confusion, and clinginess even to strangers. On a more extreme end, the goo may cause characters to act in ways contradictory to who they typically are: they may be prone to fits of violence, hysteria, flirtation, cruelty, or even for some, abundant kindness and outgoing friendliness.

The goo will automatically make characters want to interact with other characters whether positively or negatively. It uses these interactions as a way to migrate from one host to the next.

Image Descriptions from left to right: First image has a playing card and two white dice, second image has a text bubble that reads, "I'm not a Soft Gay I'm an Anger Gay. I love dogs and burning things." Third image shows a field of grass and wildflowers with a free-standing picture frame with torn canvas, the torn spot revealing a city scape image.

Two Truths & A Lie

Content Warnings.

Forced honesty and deciet via parasitic mind control. Implanted knowledge. Potential forced vulnerability.

Summary

Characters are forced to break in their Fermii accounts by publicly posting two truths and a lie for other characters to figure out. This is a network prompt.

Prompt.

Who isn't familiar with the bizarre urge to overshare to total strangers online? It would appear that the mysterious goo has an intimate understanding of this instinct and intends to capitalize on it.

In other words, the mysterious goo's influence is not limited to in-person interactions. Even characters unfamiliar with technology will have the burning desire to get out their new phone and create a public post to all Fermii users containing two truths and a lie about themselves.

These can range from embarrassing and silly to serious and incriminating. Characters will continue to feel an itch to respond transparently to those who correctly guess which is which. Even the most sophisticated and chronic liars cannot resist the force of the mysterious goo's presence.

The urge to overshare will ebb away the more truth is exposed.

Ironically, this may be a minor blessing to those unfamiliar with smartphone technology. It would seem that the mysterious goo has managed to assimilate the knowledge of how smartphones work and helpfully pass it into the mind of its host. However, the price of exposure might not be worth the shortcut to knowledge.

code

Comments

Questions

[newcomod]

Ask any questions about the TDM here!

Caleb Widogast | Critical Role

[zemnianjoy]

:ARRIVAL:

Caleb Widogast woke up on a park bench and with the siren's blazing all around him. A vauge disorientation wrapped around him as he searched for anything that he could use to get his bearings; his keen mind finally kicked in just underneath that knot sized lump on his forehead. A touch to the side of his head also revealed a tenderness that could only be a bruise. It felt like he had been kicked by two tons of aoerian automatii and then left for dead underneath the aegis of whatever this was. There was the scent of sulfer in the air as if heralding a curtain call, except this is what happened afterwards.

He pushed himself off of the bench and then searched around for a sign of anyone. Mainly the Nein, to see where they were except.

Nothing whatsoever.

A growing unease in the pit of his stomach started to void outward and then he glanced upward, a ball of light and then there was Frumpkin. Gods, he choked back some relief and then he struggled to grasp for a foothold, glancing over at a figure approaching. This figure was not friend-shaped, but then.. there was little that was friendshaped in this new world. But he was going to try. ] Hallo, can you tell me where I am?

:GOO:

The Wizard was naturally distrustful of people, even at the point in time where he was located-- he did not trust easily. When he trusted though, it was forever and he was like the parasite that had somehow lodged inside of his mind. He found that when he attempted to figure out the points at which directions existed, there was nothing. Time was equally superfluous; where minutes and seconds were easily calculated-- now, there was nothing and he was just like anyone else in that he struggled to seize upon a point at which he could pluck the threads of time.

That wasn't only it.

Magic was just as unreliable. He attempted to cast a flame and there was but a spark like matchsticks (unsuccessfully) rubbing against each other. The somatics, it was just a cantrip and should not have been a struggle at all and yet here he was, bereft of that which he had always prided himself on. Words for spells fled his mind, and when he opened up his spellbook to ascertain the information he would need to cast, the sigils swam across a sea of ink on parchment.

He was frustrated and it showed, someone passing by would hear him muttering in sharp zemnian underneath his breath, as he grasped for straws. "Verdammter Scheiß!, a lot of good this will do me, not being able to cast." and somewhere in the back of his mind, a little goo boy was cackling maniacally.

:TWO TRUTHS ONE LIE: [network]

a.) Cats are furry little cat gods and deserve to be worshipped.
b.) I murdered my own family because I thought that I was doing the right thing.
c.) Magic is something that the world would be better without, it causes more trouble than it is worth.

WILD CARD

Hello everyone, I'm Nia over at zauberdecke; feel free to add at will! I am fine with either brackets or prose and I'm always down to clown and be ridiculous. Also feel free to hit me with anything random and completely out of left field because we DIE LIKE BARBARIANS here! *Casts a ritual circle for more Crit-Role people*

Did I mention I'm friendly and I do not bite?

Steve Rogers ✪ MCU

[pursuitofcappiness]

ota

first✪train

Steve wakes up having fallen asleep in a traincar, on his way to the Academy. He blinks away the sleep and memories, which are sitting in his mind as if he'd had the strangest dream about being a soldier again, only with a ridiculous blue and red uniform that he's sure breaks every regulation, now that he's awake.

Something about all that feels off, as he reaches up to his chest to gently pat the letter folded up inside his pocket, splotches of iron gall still staining parts of his fingers from having written it earlier.

He looks outside the window and squints as the landscape rolls past. Sure, he doesn't expect that he's seen any of this before, but it's odd to him that he doesn't have a better orientation of his space. Before long, he gets up from his seat to go search for a dining car. Because he's so broad-shouldered and these car hallways are so small, he nearly bumps into your character as he comically tries to make himself flush against the wall.

As the train lurches, he braces himself against the wall, but the two of you might have a crash. "Sorry--!"

ota

first✪train✪ii

He gets thrown back during the crash, but quickly finds himself on his feet, running towards the point of collision. The adrenaline must make him stronger than he is, because he feels like he's lifting parts of the train that should be impossible, but then again, his dream had been so realistic. He finds it hard to shake the thoughts of it, as ridiculous as that all is.

Regardless of what he can sort through as reality or imagination, his instincts are to keep running into the train to mark casualties and pull out or help stabilize anyone else that he can for doctors to arrive.

Maybe he's pulling rubble off of your character, or maybe they have to work together to get someone out, or maybe yours is trying to stop a fire. "Does anyone know what the cargo was?" he asks, because he knows that this train was carrying more than just passengers, and if the fire gets to that car, it might be disastrous.

ota

fermii

1. I got rejected from the army four times.
2. I take my coffee black with two sugars.
3. Sometimes I don't wait to ask an owner to pet a dog if it runs up to me first.

ota

wild✪card

[ Hello I'm Xy! You can reach out via DM or assemble if you'd like a private starter, or just hit me with your own! Haven't decided what canon point for Steve yet so I might just have him have vague recollections until I do. Might also test drive other characters too, not sure yet. And don't worry, just like Nia, I don't bite!! ]

castiel / supernatural

[messenger]

—arrival
cw: violence, injury, memory issues, memory alteration, brainwashing

The experience isn't entirely unfamiliar.

Hurtling through the atmosphere at breakneck speeds, crashing into the earth with such force as to knock up great plumes of dirt and dig long furrows in the ground— It's every bit like being banished. Even the delirious and painful aftermath isn't entirely unexpected, at least until Castiel gets his bearings and realizes he isn't at all where he's meant to be.

Which is— well.

That's the problem. He doesn't know. And he should.

When he climbs his way out of the crater of his impact site, digging his fingers into the loamy earth to drag himself up, it's with a broken leg and a broken arm. The pain flares through him like heat, traversing his body inside-out, and though he knows he'll heal once his powers recover, right now he doesn't have the strength to hide his injuries. Honestly, he's kind of a mess. He doesn't even remember what he was doing before he was banished. Confronting Raphael? Confronting Michael? Or was he running from the creatures in Purgatory, trying to draw them off? Wasn't that years ago? Or—

He clutches his head. The image of a small, fine-toothed drill enters his mind, and he doubles over in a full-body wince.

"Ugh."

—the crash
cw: injury, burns, fire

[ whilte recovering from the wreckage of his own arrival, castiel sets his eyes to the burning wreckage of the train. of course, to say he's given himself any time to recuperate would be a vast understatement, but he's bold enough to ignore his injuries— confident in the fact that they'll soon heal on their own.

but there are people in those train cars, and who better suited to help them but him? he rushes into the wreckage without a second thought to the licking fire, or the burns he'll quickly accumulate. he closes his hand around an arm and yanks, grabbing fistfuls of clothes, pulling who he's found free of the twisted metal frame of what was once a working train car until they're outside, beyond the heat of the wreck, breathing in the open air.

there are little embers smoldering in his hair and on his shoulders. ]

Are you okay?

—assimilation
cw: mental manipulation, mind control, violence, non-consensual touching

[ moving in and out of the train, it's inevitable he encounters it. he doesn't remember what it reminds him of at that particular moment in time— his past firmly lodged in the events of the biblical apocalypse he helped to avert. there are no purgatory souls, blessedly no leviathan, but when he sees the stuff on his arm, black and viscous, his reaction is instinctive and immediate. he scrapes at it with his fingernails, tries to burn it off with a power that hasn't yet returned to him—

and none of it helps.

when all else fails, his intention is to sequester himself. except, by then, it's already beyond the point he could have bucked the thing trying to influence his mind. a sort of calm comes over him as he wanders, instinctively toward the most popular areas, looking for some living being with the sort of mindless clarity common to all hungry predators. ]

prompt a. castiel becomes cruel/violent and attempts to start a fight. (à la leviathan!castiel)
prompt b. castiel becomes incredibly friendly and clingy. (à la honeybee!castiel)

—two truths & a lie
cw: forced honesty, suicidal ideation, discussion of mental illness, discussion of death and violence

1. I've been committed to a mental health facility before.
2. Every time I die, God resurrects me.
3. I'm glad my friends aren't here, so they don't have to see me like this.

( ooc: feel free to hit me up at plurk at chayot if you'd like to plot out something specific! )

Ajewen Cheris | Machineries of Empire

[everyspark]

ARRIVAL

The lassitude is not quite familiar. For a moment, Cheris is tempted to drift off again, though such crowded transports are not common in the colony; it's small enough that everyone walks or borrows a private flitter. A tour of one of the successfully terraformed areas, where familiar oxygen-breathing trees have replaced the stubby, thorned growths outside the dome? How did she end up on a tour without her class, though? A fuzzy spike of anxiety -- no, the children in her math class (how many? she should know this) are nowhere in sight.

Actually, nobody she knows in sight. And it's... hard, somehow, to wonder why.

That sensation is familiar indeed.

Her augment isn't working, either. What time is it? What day? Has she missed a required meditation? One lapse wouldn't be fatal to the dome's exotic technology, but if too many people miss their observances, calendrical rot could set in. There's something in her hands -- a backpack, unfamiliar or unremembered, with an air mask. Enough to filter the toxics in the air outside the dome. Is that why everything is so muzzy -- why the inside of her mind feels scoured? Some injury during an evacuation? But that wouldn't explain--

Then, everything upends.

When the car stops moving, she's jammed between two off-kilter seats. The smoke stings; she pulls her air mask on immediately and works her way free, bruised all over and unsure of several of her ribs. There are voices nearby, sounds of pain. The side of the car is flanged outward, warped wide with dangerous sharp edges not impeding freedom. The backpack looks like it might contain useful first-aid supplies; Cheris swings it over her shoulder, surprised at its light weight, and looks for the nearest person who might need medical care.

FERMII

She's not used to handheld phones. Why carry around an extra device when most communications can be transmitted to the local grid through one's augment? But her augment isn't working, and some field effect is allowing her to understand how the unfamiliar thing works, and a compulsion -- formation instinct? -- has her signing up as luckstone and making a very, very important post.

1. My kill count is classified.

2. I'm not fond of alcohol.

3. I helped to execute my best friend.

Some distant part of her is horrified, while another, wearily noting the old well-recognized feeling of being controlled by something she cannot resist, files the anger for another time and proceeds to hit send. Fire and ash, what is this, a trust exercise? It had better let me delete this later.

[[ooc: Hi, I'm Vik! DMs are open for any questions or suggestions; I'm getting back into rp after a break of several years, so please excuse any slowness that might occur.]]

Loki | MCU | OTA

[abit_ofboth]

Arrival

Though you would never know it from the look on his face, Loki actually quite likes train rides. In his opinion, it is the greatest form of transportation humans ever created, especially since none of them can teleport. It’s relaxing and provides a beautiful view.

A view that Loki is currently blind to.

His brother starts a war and his parents have lied to him his entire life, but he’s the one who’s punished. Sure, he had his hand in the start of the war as well, but it was only because Odin couldn’t see how unfit Thor was for rule. He had to do it! For the good of all of Asgard!

Those arguments had fallen on deaf ears though and now Loki finds himself bored and annoyed on a train to some boarding school with a bunch of humans. Apparently since Thor’s banishment worked so well, Odin thinks it will help Loki too. He’ll show him though. At very least he should be able to get himself kicked out pretty easily and then he’ll be free to do what he wants, which is most definitely not going back to Asgard.

Loki is pleasantly daydreaming about possible ways to get kicked out when all Hel breaks loose. The next few minutes as the train derails and combusts is typically the kind of chaos Loki revels in, but it is much less fun when he’s right in the middle of it and not simply watching from a distance. He has just enough time to think ‘perfect’ before he’s slammed into the window next to his seat and loses consciousness.

The next thing he knows, he’s lying on his back a few hundred metres from the crash site, staring up at the sky as his head starts to pound.


Goo

Once he’s managed to shake off the worst of his injuries, Loki finds himself wandering rather aimlessly through the wreckage feeling much more confused than he’s used to. As if things weren’t bad enough, this has to be the worst way to start his punishment.

It’s not long before he comes across the train car with the strange goo seeping out of it. Having no fear of physical harm (even after just being thrown from a train wreck) Loki bends and touches some of the sticky substances out of pure curiosity only to have it instantly stick firmly to his fingertips. A deeply disgusted frown appears on his face as he stands, shaking his hand as if that would rid the substance from his skin.

”What is this?” He asks no one in particular as he rubs at the tar-like substance ineffectively.


Two Truths, One Lie [Network]

I was adopted
I am a terrible liar
I am a prince


Wildcard

Hello all! I’m Lex and really I’m up to try anything if you have an idea you think you might want a God of Mischief for. Feel free to DM me or you can find me at prettyapathetic. I’m thinking of bringing Loki in from the end of the first Thor movie with the small change that he didn’t fall from the Bifrost, but was instead sent away to this school as punishment for his deeds in the rest of the movie.

Hata no Kokoro | Touhou Project

[nohproblem]

- First Train In -

[ Kokoro appears on the train just shortly before its crash, not having enough time to get her bearings before it derails. A new place, unfamiliar environs, and then it all explodes around her.

When the chaos ends, she's sprawled out on the floor, blinking blearily at what's left of the ceiling. After taking a moment to untangle her limbs, she pulls herself to her feet, quickly finding that one of her ankles can barely support any weight without shooting a spike of pain up her leg, leaving her leaning weakly against one of the seats. No problem, she can always fly... huh? Flight isn't working, either. That's a bigger problem. ]

Is anybody else alive? I need to get out, but I can't walk.

[ It's supposed to be a cry for help, but its vibes are left a bit confusing by its total deadpan delivery. Is she really in pain? ]


- Assimilation -

[ Fortunately, Kokoro heals quickly. Unfortunately, curiosity pulled her too close to that black goo, and it took the opportunity to attach itself as a dark splotch across one side of her face.

Unfortunately, Kokoro's emotions are a bit chaotic even under normal situations, and it's only destabilized further by the goop's influence. Mind filled with a dark haze, she wobbles unsteadily through the campus, not sure where she's going or what she's looking for. As she does, the mask on her face flickers unsteadily, disappearing every few seconds to be replaced with a different mask, in a different orientation. Each one has a wildly different expression, but the actual face behind them remains totally blank.

All in all, the campus is left with a mysterious pink-haired figure, drunkenly wobbling down the street as masks appear and disappear from her face. Sometimes, the wobbling gives way to outright dancing, spinning erratically but with an enthusiasm that doesn't match her bland expression. If approached, there's no telling how she might react. ]


- Two Truths & A Lie -

1. I once started a religious war!
2. Zeami, the great genius of Noh theater, is my father!
3. The thing on the front of my head is not my face!

[ Mysterious. ]

peter maximoff | x-men movies

[antifastism]

First Train In: Busted
Content Warnings: Explicit leg injury, temporary loss of powers, debris, mild burns.

(The worst part wasn't how his mind felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and sawdust. The worst part wasn't even the piece of metal lodged in the meat of his thigh. His other leg was partially trapped under some train seats that had flipped over. He didn't think that leg was broken, but he didn't want to think too hard about it either.

The worst part was that he should have been able to avoid all of this without a problem. But as soon as shit hit the fan, he found himself jogging at a pitiful pace and before long, he became a train kebab. The pain was a bitch, no lie there, but why the hell hadn't he been able to take off? He had his teeth grit, hands latched around his thigh as if it might actually help with the pain. It didn't.

At least he had been wearing his goggles when everything happened. Besides a few cuts on his face, his eyes were fine and nothing else on his body seemed too banged up. Just...his legs. The only part of his body that mattered.)

Oh, god damn it. (Huffing, he rests his head back.) This is- so lame. So lame. Holy shi-

(Deep breaths, Peter. He sucks in a slow breath between his teeth before exhaling. He needed help. As much as he hated to admit it...He needed help.)

Hey- uh? Hello? Anyone around? No rush or anything, but I could uh- use a hand. Or two.

First Train In: Helping Out
Content Warnings: Leg injury, whatever injuries he may come across, debris.

(As miserable as his injury was, having it wrapped up and set did wonders. Hobbling around using a piece of wood was a bit of a hit to his dignity as someone who could normally travel in the blink of an eye, but it was better than not being able to walk at all. He'd heal up and when he did...

Well, nothing would happen. It's not like he could seek revenge on a fucking train. For now, he was just trying to do what the losers at Xavier's School would do: help. Poorly. He uses his makeshift crutch to push over pieces of debris with all the enthusiasm of a rock.)

Anyone around? Anyone partially around?

(God, he had already seen some gruesome corpses along the way. He stomps his crutch impatiently and uselessly at a pile of burnt seats. It was torture having to move this s l o w.)

Goddamn it. (He's going to just...take his aggression out on these poor seats. He can go back to looking for survivors in a second.)

Two Truths, One Lie
username: peteroff

man this stupid game never ends well
okay okay

1. yes my hair is naturally silver
2. i stole from the pentagon and it was way too easy. 5/10 would do again
3. i never knew my mom she was a loser who ditched when me and my sisters were kids

holland vosijk | shades of magic

[summersaint]

✘ ⸻ first train in

The last thing that Holland remembers is-- dying.

He'd never thought that the trip to the afterlife would involve a train, but the vivid colors of the autumn leaves catch his eye and distract him for just long enough that he's not on guard when the violent jolt hits. Everything gets upended; metal screams as it warps, trees cracking and splintering, and the world seems to revolve around him, spinning. Something solid hits the back of his head.

He wakes on the shattered remains of a window, grass and torn soil. The cabin has fallen on its side. And for a long moment, his eyes hurt. The colors are too vivid. The red of the fire starting to rouse in one corner, the verdant grass, even the shining silver of the train walls opened up. So much more vivid than his home and its dying, withering, barely revitalizing colors. Pain hits, then. An old friend.

Holland climbs to his feet. It seems safe to assume that he's not dead. But where is he?

One thing at a time.

There's someone else nearby. Holland lifts a piece of luggage off of them, and stares downward, gaze assessing, one eye green, the other eye edge-to-edge black. Despite the visibly broken and bloody arm that hangs at his side, there's no pain on his face. Instead, he offers his other hand.

"Can you stand?" he asks, seemingly unruffled. "There's a fire starting, and I don't think I can do anything about it." He thinks he can feel it, but-- his magic should be gone. Sacrificed. "So if you don't want to die here, I suggest you move."

✘ ⸻ assimilation

Backpack slung over his good shoulder, Holland takes some time to adjust once he makes his way out of the crashed train. Everything is still so vivid, like the other worlds he's traveled through, but he doesn't think this is another version of London. The air is too different, the sense of magic unknown. The other people on the train are dressed too electically.

Besides. He didn't travel here. He died. And then woke up on a train. Wherever this is, it's not anywhere he knows.

Holland has kept a wide berth from the remnants of the crashed train, especially the one with the metal crates spilling out of it. But other people are apparantly more curious -- or stupider -- than he is, and are either looking through them or just standing near.

Something's moving through the grass.

He grabs the nearest person's arm and yanks them back. The motion sends ripples of pain through his broken arm, but that's the least of his issues. And it's then that he notices the black goo climbing up the person's hand.

"You might want to do something about that." Holland's voice is perfectly neutral. Like there's not a burning train car and people with injuries and black goo crawling over this person's skin. "I have a knife if you want to hack it off."

✘ ⸻ two truths & a lie

un: londoncalling

1. I killed a man by turning him into stone and shattering him.
2. I killed a man by breaking all his bones simultaneously.
3. I killed a man by forcing air into his veins until he exploded.

✘ ⸻ wildcard

[ ooc: also open to any wildcard prompt! holland is being taken from the end of the third book in the series (shades of magic by v.e. schwab) -- for the uninitiated, he's a magician that can do various types of blood-triggered magic and elemental control, and he's never had a good thing happen to him ever. i think he's smiled like once lmao ]

clint barton | mcu

[brandingproblem]

train
[The world explodes into heat and pain.

In spite of the shock of it (and everything else), he somehow just isn't surprised that this is happening. It just seems about right, somehow. There's a long and groggy moment between when he hits something (or is hit by something, he can't even recall) and when he tries to sit up in a daze where all he can wonder is where the hell that damn clock is coming from.

It is, in fact, the only thing he can hear with any clarity. Everything now is muffled at best, and it isn't just head trauma talking. It doesn't get any better as he really comes to and starts attempting to move, but he isn't in a position to question that right now. One arm is busted, forearm snapped in a manner as to be bent in a way that forearms do not. His face is hot and wet, and to others it's at least half a sheet of blood from a head wound. He's covered in all manner of cuts even through his couple of layers of clothes, including the hand of his other arm now when he sets to pushing himself up among the shards of glass and scraps of metal that once held chairs in place and, y'know, were walls and floor. He tries not to think too hard about an entire wheel axle lodged into the ceiling from another car. Get up. Get the fuck up.

There's smoke, and so in spite of trying to get up, he stays low, finds a window--frame bent at a jaunty angle--and climbs through it, stumbling onto the burning grass.]

Hey! Hey! [He pokes his head back through, waving his good arm to anyone inside. He can barely hear himself.] This way! A way out!

[He will do his damnedest to, instead of making his way away from the wreckage or seeking help for himself, help others out of the car he was in, and hell, other cars if he can see other disoriented passengers struggling to escape a bad situation.]

assimilation
[He doesn't notice when a bit of black finds its way through one of the tears in his shirts and rests against his torso in a cozy manner. What he does notice is when his steps, having become more solid and sure in spite of new surroundings, growing wobbly. The world spins, and, aw shit, this is a concussion, isn't it? The adrenaline's wearing off, and his brain's starting to shut down. His arm's still several shades of busted, and he's probably going to break something else like this, and he should find someone else to make it better.

Is that what he needs...? There's an unbidden thought, feeling, memory(?), like being pulled under and inside of himself, trapped. It's so very fucking familiar--and then. Yes. Yes, that's what he needs. He's sure of this now. The only thing he's sure of. (Right?)

He grabs the first person he can see without preamble, tight.] Hey, [and his mouth feels like cotton, like everything's drooping] help? Please. Dunno what I'm doing. [But it has to involve this person. Or other people! He's...pretty sure.]

party games
[Hi guys, guess who, it's ya boi, hawkeye bc who has time for creativity in first thing usernames, coming at you with a goo-ified network post.]

1. I fought my best friend about who got to sacrifice their life.
2. My preferred weapon is a retractable katana I made myself.
3. My family's existence was top secret for many years.

doctor stephen strange ╳ mcu

[becloaked]

✘ ⸻ first train in

It's not uncommon for Stephen's reality to change on a dime, but he can safely say that this is the first time he started off the afternoon meditating and ended in a train crash.

Everything goes black for a long moment, long enough that Stephen's first worry when he wakes up is about brain damage. How long was he unconscious? He doesn't know. What he does know is that there's the smell of smoke in the air, other passengers groaning, metal screaming as it tries to warp and bend -- and jammed through his shoulder is the remains of what must have been a slim metal window pane, sheared off to form an inconvenient stake. Because he's not an idiot, he doesn't pull it out, and picks himself up instead.

The Cloak of Levitation is disturbingly lifeless, falling limp around him. And when he tries to conjure a self-assessment spell, the runes flicker and die. Stephen scowls.

No matter. The more important thing is seeing to the other passengers. He casts his gaze over the others he can see -- mental triage: sprained wrist, bump on the head, bruise, he doesn't need to attend any of them yet -- and finds someone on the floor, bleeding from a head wound. Stephen kneels down next to them. "Lay still," he says, not so much gentle bed-side manner as it is firm instruction that brooks no bullshit, and finds a nearby scarf to press against the wood. He cringes internally at the bacteria that might be on it, but an infected head wound is better than one that doesn't stop bleeding.

"You." He grabs the attention of someone nearby, pale gaze narrowed. "Are you injured?"

✘ ⸻ assimilation

When he'd heard that one of the cars contained cargo with test tubes, Stephen had made his way there as quickly as possible after helping what passengers he could. Without the use of his magic, which is still sputtering out and dying as soon as he calls it, he's forced back to far more rudimentary measures; make-shift bandages and splints, assigning the less injured to watch over the more injured.

It's been a long time since he was involved in triage for a mass injury event, and back then he'd had the full resources of a hospital. Now, he has nothing. It's enough to drive any former surgeon mad.

While rustling through one of the cargo boxes in the hopes of finding medicine, he'd noticed a black substance. Though he'd done his best to stay far away from it, he nonetheless finds it clinging to his fingers when he draws back. He still hasn't found the time to see to his own injury, metal sticking out of his shoulder, but he wrapped it with a torn strip of a spare shirt he'd found in someone's luggage. The black goo seems... a more immediate issue, but no matter how much he tries to wipe it off, it doesn't move. It's not burning, or sizzling, there's no immediate pain, and yet, when he stands, his head swims, and he winds up automatically reaching out to grab someone's arm to steady himself.

When his vision clears, he realizes he's just spread the goo to someone else. It's still on his hand, and spreading over their shirt sleeve.

"Shit." Stephen wishes he had a scalpel. A torch. Fire. Anything. "Quick, before it touches your skin, get rid of your shirt." He really hopes they have something on underneath!

✘ ⸻ two truths & a lie

un: notawizard

1. In an alternate universe there's a very flatteringly heroic statue of me.
2. My cape is the most jealous entity I've ever come across.
3. I can't stand bagels and as a New Yorker that's a sin.

✘ ⸻ wildcard

[ ooc: also happy to do other plots if wanted! :D ]

Alfred Pennyworth | Gotham | OTA

[flippin_peachy]

First Train In:

Alfred Pennyworth has taken a lot of trains in his time.
It used to be the fashionable way to travel when he was a lad and since he was born in England it was the easiest way to hop around Europe whenever he or his family wanted to go on holiday. He found trains relaxing; from the steady chug of the engine to the afternoon tea that was served in the dinning car where you could sip and watch the countryside go by.

Unfortunately this train isn't quite so peaceful.

When it jolts forward on the tracks Alfred is quick to brace himself, grabbing the arms of his seat and waiting to see if the train will right itself or if there will be more. A second later everything explodes into chaos, he is thrown against the opposite wall as his car flips onto its side. The sound of crunching glass and squealing metal put his teeth on edge but he has been in far worse situations than this and once the car has finally stopped moving he does a quick assessment and then gets moving.

He is injured but not badly; a gash on his forehead, some minor cuts on his back and a sore wrist but nothing that will keep him out of commission.
He's a tough old dog.

Carefully he hauls himself up and out of the now broken window and onto the side of the train car, looking out to see the rest of the crash.

"Bloody hell."

It's bad.
But once again he's used to bad and with a grim sort of determination in his eyes he starts to backtrack along the train, looking for anyone who might need help.

Two Truths & A Lie:
[username: APennysWorth]

1. I'm rubbish in a fight.
2. I make one hell of a cup of tea.
3. I've slept with the Queen of England.

Damianos of Akielos | Captive Prince

[giantanimal]

I. Train

Damen has never been on a train before. It's a level of technology that simply doesn't exist in Akielos. This does not help his initial confusion. At least he's got his own clothes again. He stands by the window dressed in a white chiton with a red cape pinned around his shoulders, held in place with a pin depicting a gold lion. His feet are in sandals, and there's a gold cuff around one wrist. His head is unadorned, which is probably for the best. He knows first hand how much easier it can be to move freely when no one realizes you're a prince. Or king.

"Is this... some sort of land boat?" It's the only reference he has for how large and how fast the vehicle is moving. He rubs his head, forehead pinched. "The sails must be massive...."

II. Crash!

Damen still doesn't know what's going on, but he's always been quick in a crisis, and his instincts and reflexes have been honed with a lifetime of training. He hits the ground with a roll and is back on his feet before the echoes of the explosion that rocked his train car have faded. Immediately, he looks around for anyone else who might need help. He's not remotely fireproof, but it isn't the first time he's risked death to save a stranger. Anyone still stuck in the train, or injured or trapped outside it, he runs to and lends his considerable strength and height to help them escape.

Of course, even as competent as he is, the risk of throwing yourself in danger is that sooner or later, you might need saving yourself. Not that Damen will ever ask for it. Even when he's surrounded by burning metal, too hot for him to shove through without injuring himself. He just frowns. There has to be a way he can get out of this without endangering anyone else. He just has to find it.

III. Two Truths and a Lie

[It is VERY CONVENIENT that he's gotten a goo-based lesson in phones because yeah, he definitely has never seen one of these before. And yet, he finds himself confidently typing out three statements:]

1. I ended a war by fighting the opposing crown prince in single combat and killing him.

2. Once, I spent six hours in bed with a gladiator after defeating him in combat.

3. I think I'm falling for the brother of the prince I killed.

[WAIT HOW DO YOU DELETE HOW DO YOU DELE--]

IV. Choose your own adventure!!

Peeta Mellark | The Hunger Games

[pressuremakespearls]

FIRST TRAIN: I

Peeta wakes gently in his seat, squinting at the evergreen trees rushing past the window. He’s on a train. It’s a considerably less fancy than trains he’s been on before, like the one for the victory tour that was practically a 5-star hotel on wheels, but comfortable. He doesn’t quite remember how he got here. He also doesn’t quite know where he’s going. He starts to look around, scanning the other people in the car, looking for any clue on the train that might indicate where it’s headed.

Maybe you’re seated next to him, or walking by in the aisle. Either way, he’ll politely get your attention.

“Excuse me, sorry. I fell asleep, and I’m wondering if I missed my stop. Where are we?”

He doesn’t want to sound mad, so he pretends like he at least took this train on purpose. Suddenly he hopes the stranger doesn't ask what stop his is, because... He can't answer that in the slightest.

FIRST TRAIN: II

Peeta never gets to find out where they’re going, at least not yet. The train car lurches, and some horrible screeching can be heard, like it’s coming off the tracks. It careens suddenly to one side, tipping as it does, and throws the passengers around like ragdolls as it crashes through trees, scrapes against ground.

The car rolls, throwing Peeta against the ceiling and knocking him unconscious, then begins to implode, half-crushing him in the process.

When he comes to, he’s stuck between a broken seat and the ceiling, unsure what direction is up. The exposed metal sticks into him in various places, and each and every breath hurts. His right arm is crumpled against his own chest, broken. With his still-good arm, he tries to push against the metal to free himself, but it only causes more pain. He groans with it, then looks around for anyone else who can help, still dizzy from the probable concussion.

“Help… Anyone?”

GOO

Once Peeta is patched up a bit and has a backpack, he’s going around trying to help others out of the wreckage, especially where there’s fire. He startles when he looks down and sees a large patch of black on his good hand. He rubs it vigorously against his thigh, but it won’t come off. It’s some kind of weird goo, and it starts to make him nervous.

He looks around, and he forgets what he was just doing, where he was going. Why is he here? It doesn’t matter: there’s trouble, so he needs to find Katniss. He needs to make sure she’s okay. He starts to walk, and he’s slow and stumbling, calling out listlessly.

“Katniss? Katniss! Finnick…?”

He sees someone in a train car, and approaches as quickly as he can. He calls inside to the person.

“Katniss, are you okay?!”

2 TRUTHS AND A LIE

1. My heart stopped once.
2. I’ve lied about having a pregnant wife on national TV.
3. I’m a 3-time swimming champion.

WILDCARD

((ooc: Helloooo! I’m Drew, I can be found at decimalplaces on plurk, drewey.decimal on discord or by PM here if you want to plot something! Or throw something at me and I’ll roll with it! Cheers!))

Ignatius "Iggy" Melville | OC

[dead_tongue]

i. First Train In
cw: drug mention

[The train ride is actually pretty pleasant. The scenery is lovely... if you can see it past the ginger curls smushed up against the window glass. The owner of said curls is sleeping, head resting against the window and long legs splayed out across one of the seats. He snorts suddenly and his eyes flutter open. He sits up and looks around with bleary eyes.]

Is this a fucking train? Well. Okay. No more Special K for me for a while... [He pushes his hair back and grins.]

Hi! I'm Iggy. As in Pop. Any idea where we're going, sweetie?


[Conversation is of course eventually cut short when the accident happens. The first jolt sends Iggy sprawling to the floor.]

Owwww! What was--?

[There is the sound of screaming metal as the car leaves the tracks, tilting to one side and sending everything flying. The windows break as they hit the ground, the car still moving. Iggy screams and manages to hang on to one of the seats so that he isn't dragged along. He's still shrieking like a kettle when the car is hit by another and sent sliding right into a tree. One side of the car crimps inward and the force of impact sends Iggy sprawling again. This time he hits his head and he goes down, groaning. Blood stings his eyes and he tries to sit up.]

Ohfuck. Are. Are you alive?


ii. Assimilation

[This is not the first time Iggy's been lost, wandering around with shit coordination, unsure of what is going on or why. It's the first time he's been host to some sort of parasitic goo, but it's not like he's noticed that part.

So he just wobbles up to the closest person and reaches for one of their hands.]

You? Are beautiful. Let's get married. I'll make the prettiest bride you ever saw, and we can get tacos after.


iii. Two Truths & A Lie

[username: gingerailed]

1. I've sent someone to the hospital with a dick injury.
2. my favourite disney princess is belle.
3. I got fired from a craft store for stealing macramé supplies.


((OOC: happy to do prose or brackets - will match format. want something that's not on the menu? wilcard me, baby!))

Dr. Rodney McKay | Stargate: Atlantis

[bathtubarchimedes]

A. Train the First

[Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, has had quite the bevy of experiences in what he would consider a life akin to your typical science fiction television show, or novel. He’s housed another consciousness in his body, been cocooned on an alien spacecraft, mutated and given superpowers (alas, temporarily and they almost killed him), so waking up in a seemingly perfectly ordinary train, a train that seemed to be earth-based, wasn’t exactly the weirdest thing that happened to him that week.

Rodney blinks, looking back and forth at the passengers around him. He rubs an eye with a palm. Was he…sleeping? The last thing he remembered was…fuzzy. He’s not sure exactly what happened before…he probably was in his lab in Atlantis, since he was in his lab a lot, which, while—possible he could have fallen asleep, usually said activity didn’t involve intergalactic-transport.

Unless he got superpowers again.

Which would be neat.

He snaps his fingers at the nearest random passenger, expectantly, like he’s pretty sure they know what’s going on.]

You. What the hell happened?!


B. Train the Second cw: blood, concussion

[It was a surprisingly nice train ride, all worries about intergalactic misplacement aside. Which of course, meant, with his luck, the train ride ended in a horrific, violent crash.

He doesn’t remember much from the initial jolt till after he jerks awake, something hot and wet dripping onto his eye. It takes him a good long second for his brain to catch up to him—second time today he’s woken up in the wrong place, but as the world clears (sort of), it’s apparent that he’s still on the train.

Except the train’s in pieces around him.

He wipes the wet stuff from his face—and realizes that it’s not water. Of course, his mind goes right to all the worst-case scenarios.

He shrieks.]

I’m dying!

[It is a very small cut on his forehead.]

C. This is why he likes DC better than Marvel, pls Venom

[So he wasn’t dying then, but he might be dying now because there is a glob of goo that has firmly ensconced itself around one arm and up the side of his neck. Eddie Brock, he is not.

But, perhaps thankfully, due to the effects of said goo, he is not in fact, panicking over being taken over by an alien entity. Which is something that was pretty much common in his universe so he knows he should be freaking out about it? But he’s just…not.

Instead, he’s nice.

Friendly, even.

A bubbling ball of charming, happy, extrovert personality.

He will be horrified later.

Instead, he walks the halls, giving people finger-guns, high-fives, and generally being gregarious.]

Hey, how’s it goin’?

Working hard or hardly working?

That shirt looks great on you!

Did you do something with your hair? I knew it. Looks expensive!

D. Oversharing Oh No cw: mention of previous injury

[Somehow it doesn’t occur to Rodney, under the influence, that his security clearance was still valid even in alternate dimensions. (Being that the SGC was well aware of alternate dimensions, it was actually written in the non-disclosure agreement.)

Ah, well.]

Greetings. My name is Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, Chief Science Officer of the Atlantis Expedition, in the Pegasus Galaxy.

I’d like to say for the official record I find games like these stupid, but one can’t say that I’m not a good sport about them. It’s just that they don’t seem to be a really good way of getting to know people on a deeper level. I know, I know it’s technically a start, and it’s supposed to be an icebreaker in order to get past the hurdle of talking to a stranger, but then you get some people who are terrible at this game and can’t think of a lie to save their life. Being able to lie is a sign of intelligence, but I’ve never been reliably good at it, despite my genius-level intelligence. I suppose it’s a better thing to be an honest person than a devious one, but I’ve always been jealous of other people who have been able to weasel their way out of trouble with a little white lie.

Anyway.

I was supposed to be doing something.

Ah yes! Two Truths and a Lie. Here we go.

A. I was shot in the ass with an arrow once
B. I am violently allergic to citrus
C. I destroyed 3/4 of a solar system

Michael | The Good Place

[eudaimonikos]

i-a: train ride

[Michael blinks awake on the train, feeling groggy and vaguely ill. Granted, this describes a lot of his earliest experiences with falling asleep as a real human being. Sleep's weird. Sometimes, doing it feels great! Sometimes, it's terrible. And, as always, such a waste of time.

Dangerous, too - he's always feared it might be a little dangerous, even if this is the first time he's ever actually woken up somewhere unfamiliar afterwards.]

What the hell is this?

[It's not as if he's anybody important as far as people on Earth are concerned! Also, it's not a great kidnapping even if that were what it is. He's got full range of motion. Pretty sure these are his clothes - he checks his pockets, but he wasn't carrying a weapon anyway. Something about the motion feels strange, though. He rests his fingertips lightly on his chest for a moment, then touches them to his jawline instead. His brow is furrowed, but he seems more...puzzled than genuinely concerned]

...huh...

i-b: trainwreck

[In some ways, the crash is a relief. Michael's extremely used to his life becoming a sudden trainwreck.

Now that he's more himself - far less human, but nevermind that right now - getting hurt isn't much of a concern. Neither is the fire. He wrenches open the twisted door to his compartment, wincing at the screech of scraping metal, and then sets off to check on everybody else down the line.

In theory, it's better to never let anybody know he isn't a real human. In practice...well, this is already weird. He'd rather save someone's life and deal with the consequences later than just...not. So he doesn't bother playing the ginger, fragile old man. He just punches through some glass with his bare hands and entirely ignores the fire.]

Hey, you okay?

ii. affliction

[The blotch of black goo is very visible, stuck to the side of Michael's right hand. But it's not that visually distinguishable from his normal ink, and he has recently gotten very cut up. He doesn't think much of it, and then it's rather too late.

He's been a lot of people over the course of his long life. Fortunately for everyone, the goo's just amplifying some of his current tendencies right now. Evil demon or not, he's always had a capacity for Goofs.]

Heeeeeey, buddy!

[He lurches over to fling an arm around your shoulders, which also ends with him leaning most of his weight onto you. You have never seen him ever in your entire life probably. Michael giggles, and then:]

Boop!

[He has booped your nose.]

iii. two truths and a lie

So this is what we're doing? Children's sleepover games? Cool

1. I'm an amateur magician!
2. I once broke into Heaven through the mail chute. It was a fairly large mail chute.
3. Immanuel Kant is my favorite philosopher.

richard campbell gansey iii / the raven cycle

[lamiaceae]

First Train In

i.

Richard Campbell Gansey III kinda hates his name, and he's certainly not going to introduce himself as more than 'Gansey'. In terms of looks, he definitely falls into the categories 'wealthy' thanks to his clothes and his watch and 'all-American boy' thanks to his crew-team physique and haircut that makes him look rakishly tousled regardless of how much he runs his hand through it. He's really annoying that way. Also annoying? He's got a blue long-sleeved button-down open over a white tee-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, coupled with black pants of a somewhat tactical/military bent and very good hiking boots, and he looks unfairly polished for how much mud is on his boot-soles. There's even rock-climbing gear strapped to his backpack, which looks recently used.

Gansey is no stranger to train travel, and he's got himself positioned comfortably, bag tucked under his raised knees and scribbling away in a leather-bound journal. Every few minutes he pauses to watch the landscape pass, staring out the window until he seems to startle like he was nodding off. Then he starts writing away again. When he looks down at his watch, he frowns like whatever time it is upsets him somehow.

If you can catch a glimpse of his watch face (it's a shiny, expensive chronometer), the hands just seem to be...spinning.

ii.

The train sure as hell did just blow up, but Gansey seems much more focused on what the everloving hell is going on behind the train.

"Oh, that's...that's not good."

It's really not good. It's kind of giving him a migraine. Maybe don't stare into the time-rip, Gansey. Don't listen to the familiar song of time made discordant by something deeply Wrong. Definitely don't look at how all times are one time are tearing into fractals of time that spin off in an infinite number of directions.

Maybe someone should pull this kid away from the Time Horror happening over there, because he's just standing there with his backpack over one shoulder looking like he's watching someone die.

Two Truths & A Lie

1. I love avocado as a pizza topping.
2. I've died before, but I got better.
3. I can speak and read Welsh.

[ hi, i'm rui! i don't plurk enough but you can find me on discord at meta.rui! if you mention the tdm in your opening message i will actually reply to it. don't feel like you need to go with any of my prompts if they're boring. i do brackets or narration, doesn't matter!

for people who have read these stupid books, gansey is from post-canon, after the roadtrip. that means he's 19-20. this means he has been spoilered and has also visited the continental 48 states. he misses his car so much right now you guys. ]

Maleficent • 𝕸istress of 𝕰vil

[medeiun]

ARRIVAL

[ Maleficent doesn't like the way it feels to stir this way — sharp eyes glossy with haze, mind a slow, sluggish thing that seems to work against her rather than being under her control. Some part of her recognises this unnatural lethargy feels familiar, but she can't quite remember why she should feel that way.

She can't remember... much of anything. What was she doing, before this? The dark fairy blinks groggily, slowly managing to sit up a bit from where she was sprawled limp against a train seat — not that she knows what a train is. There's a kneejerk, instinctive hitch of alarm, though it's currently dulled in her, like most of her other sensations, and she cannot move as quickly as she is used to.

Numbly, her dark mouth a deep frown of confusion, a pair of great wings shift heavy and awkward as though not quite in her control, one awkwardly spilling over the back of the seat, the other wedged in around her. Their feathers are soft, a contrast to the razor-sharp clawtips on the alulae. The woman-shaped thing gives a quiet hiss under her breath and plants one palm to the glass of the nearby window, pushing her arm out so that she can further try to sit up and orient herself.

It's then that she notices there are others — in seats nearby, perhaps someone even in the seat right next to hers. Maleficent's eyes flash at the nearest person to show consciousness (although not as brightly as they normally would), and she finds words. Her mouth is all sharp, fanged and challenging, though with less of her usual venom. Everything still feels very far away. ]

What is this...? Speak now.

CRASH

[ By now, Maleficent has realised that she cannot reach her magic the way she's used to — a feeling that is genuinely almost unbearable; even when she'd once lost her wings, she always had her magic — but still she tries to use it in those initial moments of the crash.

There's nothing. Her magic (still there, she can still feel it, but it's useless to her in this moment) can do nothing to stop it, or to help what comes after.

Dizzied, she tries to get up, and feels a sharp pang of pain. A thin hand reaching up towards one shoulder, the dark fairy winces as she realises she's bleeding from a wing, a sharp piece of wood having torn into the appendage. Usually, she can heal — herself, or anyone around her — but not now. The blood continues to spill, forming a dark crimson puddle at her feet, and she staggers slowly forwards, her sense of balance thrown off by the angle of this enclosure; the train car has hit something and is no longer sitting fully upright.

But she can't move too slowly, for there are flames starting to spread outside of this car, licking at a window or two. Not yet engulfing, but they'll move in fast. Maleficent's eyes widen, and then snap to the rest of the space; she's not alone. There are others here, some unmoving, but she'll find someone who is awake, and call out to you. ]

Can you make it to the door? Can you open it?

[ Is it jammed? She isn't sure how much strength she can offer just now — she's already weaker than usual, and with one of her wings injured, the simple act of moving is difficult. It hangs behind her, limp and bleeding. ]

ASSIMILATION

[ Ordinarily, Maleficent does not miss a beat. But in her current state — still strangely disoriented, no longer grounded securely in the ancient magic of herself — she doesn't even notice the substance attach itself to her, a small and unobtrusive inky black stain upon the column of her neck. Perhaps some part of her would even welcome such a dark little visitor, hungry for something unknown, seeking to slowly spread like rot. What does it want? To consume? To destroy? To overpower? She has known all of those things, for the ability to ruin is there in her just as much as the ability to nurture and heal.

(...Not that she can reach any of those abilities right now. Unable to heal her own injuries, she's visibly wounded, bearing some cuts and bruises from the crash, but the worst of it is evidenced by one of her wings, which she can't quite seem to tuck in. It drags behind her a bit, and the bleeding of it has stopped, but many of the feathers are coated in dried blood.)

In any case, the foreign black substance turns her into some horrific alternate version of herself. One that..... smiles at anyone she comes across. Not with the pained forced smile of an inhuman thing trying to imitate a human gesture, but naturally now — her sharp, fanged grin bright and cheerful rather than frightening and dangerous.

The expression further blossoms from her eyes, a catlike golden with acerbic green encircling the irises, shining happily as she tries to find contact with your gaze, and she'll approach, lifting her hands towards you as though in friendly greeting — that will quickly become concern if she notices you seem to be injured from the crash at all, or otherwise could use assistance. ]

Hello! Oh my, poor dear...! Are you all right?

[ Or perhaps she hasn't directly approached you yet, but as you wander the area, you happen to make eye contact with a tall, winged, horned woman — one who will wave her hand at you, open and sweet. Considering what she looks like, this is maybe terrifying, actually. ]

TWO TRUTHS & A LIE — CW joking about eating children...

[ The technology is unfamiliar: a device held cautiously in her hands, small and strange and certainly fashioned by mankind. She would choose to destroy it, but the choice is not hers, and so Maleficent finds herself typing (slowly and clumsily, each letter forcefully struck, one at a time).

Her choices, perhaps, do not make the best first impression that they possibly could— ]

1. I am the Mistress of Evil.
2. I routinely feast on human children.
3. I do not care for this ridiculous game.

---

ETC. — 🔥

For any thoughts, questions, or requests, please feel free to pm. Also happy to match format!

Tom Zane | Alan Wake 2

[johtaja]

Act One - The Train:
cws: references to immolation, memory loss, paranoia, derealization, depersonalization, substance use

The man asleep in the train car certainly doesn't look like he was prepared for travel; leaning against the window, wild, dark curls hanging loose in his face and stuck between the back of his head and the pane of glass, snoring faintly from the awkward position. He has no shoes or socks on, no shirt - only a pair of tight leather pants and a black pinstriped blazer, worn open so his chest is exposed. Costume jewelry glitters on his fingers and wrists, set against skin pale enough that he may as well not have seen the light in years.

For the most part, he hasn't.

So when he stirs awake, slitting one crystal blue eye open, the sudden change of scenery catches him off guard. He looks around with a start, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. A train? When did he get on a train?

"What-?"

Reeling, he ignores any company he may have and tries to orient himself with the basics, looking down at his own attire with a frown. He's...a diver? No, wait, he's a poet. Or both? Which is correct? They both feel correct and incorrect at the same time. His head throbs, and he pitches forward, grasping at his curls and murmuring to himself in quavering Finnish.

At least, he does until there's a greater lurching, the screech of metal scraping and tearing, and the world tumbles end over end.

The next thing he knows is the sensation of being pinned across the chest and one arm under a displaced, crumpled row of seats, coughing in the thick black smoke that is filling the cabin with alarming speed. He tries to pull free.

He can't.

"Help-" He calls out, weakly at first, confused and filled with vague memories of a burnt out subway car, of charred bodies in great piles inside. Another attempt to wriggle free. There's a backpack on the ground, just beyond his foot. He can't even reach that.

He should be able to do more than this. Shouldn't he?

"HELP!"


Act Two - The Goo:
cws: Parasitic control, derealization, depersonalization, substance use

For most people, glimpsing a black, tar-like ooze moving across the ground of its own volition would probably set off some alarm bells in one's head. Shimmering little drops of darkness, seeking, reaching out towards life nearby would probably seem like cause for concern.

Unfortunately, most people haven't spent the last few decades living in a liminal dimension under a lake where the constant drip of animate darkness was the norm.

To Tom, when he reaches down to investigate the substance and it latches onto his wrist like another bracelet, it's pretty much just a normal Tuesday.

The auteur doesn't even realize that anything is amiss, honestly. He sways and staggers as he walks, barefoot, the world spinning around and around in a great spiral until he stumbles to the ground, laying out on the dirt, staring breathlessly up into the sky. His backpack rolls a couple feet from him, but he doesn't feel concerned.

Probably just the bit of mushroom he took this morning to take the edge off of reality.

(It's not the mushroom.)

If approached, he grins, wide and mad, blue eyes glittering as he brings his fingers together like a viewfinder.

"Whaaaaat a GREAT angle! Can y - can you hold still, right there? And let me jussssssst...getmy. Camera."

But he doesn't move.

He's just staring at you.


Act Three - Two Truths and a Lie:
cw: references to death/gun violence, unreality, parasitic compulsion

un: YotonYo

Oh, this is a fun game! I want to play, too. =)

1 - I have no idea how old I am.
2 - I have been shot in the head dozens of times.
3 - I have lived for decades on a lake.

Paljon onnea!


Wildcard

((Howdy, I'm Vin! Happy to match format for any of this. Sorry in advance for this menace of a man.

I'm not really on Plurk at the moment, but please feel free to reach out via DM or on Discord at Vincira if you wanna cook something up! =D))

John Sheppard | Stargate: Atlantis

[flippedacoin]

I. Train Ride

[When John wakes up, the first thing he looks for is a ticket. Not because he is so law-abiding, not even because of traveling anxiety, but if he has a ticket it might tell him to where. From where. It might give him dates and even a clue whether he's actually awake, like how he sometimes realized he was dreaming when he tried to read a newspaper.

There is no ticket.

Unfortunately there's no newspaper either. That's great, he's none the wiser, plus now he has that scene from Indiana Jones stuck in his head and he wonders if whoever put him on this train would be just as quick to kick him out.

He pauses. Frowns and raises his eyebrows at the same time as he looks outside the window, watching the unfamiliar landscape zoom by.

Then he steps out and heads down the carriage. He's still in his field uniform and while it doesn't exactly resemble a conductor's, maybe he'll get lucky. A lot of people look really confused but he's been stuck in enough fake realities (two) to be suspicious of everyone.]

Tickets please.

[He stops ast the next section, putting on a charming but also insistent smile.]

Hi, how are you today. Can I see your ticket and some identification please.


II. Train Crash

[It's a bad crash.

John jolts awake - wait, when did he go back to sleep in the middle of an amnesia crisis, what is he, an idiot - and immediately adrenaline has him wide awake. His hands shoot out, reaching for flight controls until he realizes he's not flying, he's not in a Jumper. Because he is aboard a stupid train and there is nothing he can do here.

He has time to open his mouth for a quick oh crap before he is flung forward, then up, the forces of the impact (what did we hit!?) tossing him around like a ragdoll.

He manages to hold on to a doorway for a moment before the compartment folds in on itself like a harmonica and he is once again falling, flying, hitting things. Glass splinters, he can feel the sudden heat of fire too close to his face and he ducks down, trying to shield his head and face with his arms. Eventually everything skids to a halt and he finds himself wedged between two dislocated rows of seats.

There's a slow swelling grown that is as pained as it is annoyed. So it's one of those days, huh.]

Now I know what Wile E. Coyote feels like when he hits that painted tunnle...

[He tries to move but finds that he can't, more or less upside down like a spider dangling from its web. A slightly scorched and bruised spider.]

Hey, if someone's not actively dying out there, I could really use a hand...


III. Assimilation

[There is a faint black line on the back of his hand. He brushed at it a few times but it won't come off. Oil probably, from the crash site. He plans on washing it off later, too busy with helping and exploring and trying to figure things out. And then he just doesn't care.

He does care about other people, though. Just not in a way he usually does. Every glance, every approach feels like a provocation and he can feel his anger rising.]

Are you looking at me?

[He isn't a guy to pick a needless fight. He doesn't look like a guy to pick a needless fight.

He's so ready to pick a needless fight.]

Do we have a problem?


IV. Two truths and a lie

Oh hey, this is neat. Lots of more functions than the forums I'm used to. Is ASCII still a thing?

       __|__
--o--o--(_)--o--o--


1. I think golf is a fantastic sport and you should all try it.
2. I live in an alien city.
3. I grew up very poor and the military was my way out.

Thancred Waters | FFXIV (+ CRAU) | OTA

[onlythans]

— don't need no credit card to ride this train;
FIRST TRAIN IN — ARRIVAL.

[Amid the fire and the wreckage of the burning train, there's one thought that keeps coming back to Thancred's mind, no matter how he tries to exorcise it: why is this familiar?

There's something about it — the arrival by train, the horrible sound of metal tortured by heat and force, the crackling of fire — that nags at him, that gives a terrible sense of deja vu that he can't quite place. There's something he needs to do, mayhap, or — someone he needs to find? Something. Something isn't right.

What is right, he knows, is the gunblade he finds smoldering in the ashes a little distance from the crash, and the daggers so finely-crafted and well-balanced that he thinks they must have been a gift for...someone. Someone? Who?

Well. Maybe he'll find them, if he goes looking. Better that he takes them with him, just in case.

He's visibly injured as he circles the wreckage of the train closest to where he'd found the weapons, with blood streaming from a cut across his brow and beading against a split lip; he's walking more slowly than he might otherwise hope to be, favoring one leg over the other because he's not altogether sure whether he's just bruised up or if there's something else that's wrong.

But the one thing he does know is that he's looking for survivors, driven to help in any way that he can. He might still be putting his thoughts back together at this point, but there's one thing that is crystal-clear amid the fog surrounding his mind: that if someone is in danger, he needs to be there to get them out of it.]

— it's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes;
WILDCARD — AROUND NEWCOMB.

[In the span of time following their rather rude arrival, Thancred promptly gets to work exploring the campus like the good little nosy-ass Scion with a Ph.D. in espionage that he is. There's a lot to look at, explore, and catalogue, so feel free to spot him wandering in pretty much any location around the place, but there is definitely one in particular that he's drawn to: the Zeno Survival and Wellness Center.

Small wonder he finds himself drawn to the pool; the man can hold his breath for ten minutes, after all, and his earliest memories are still and ever of the docks of Limsa Lominsa. It's methodical and relaxing to find a suit and dive in, letting the familiar rhythm of swimming laps and diving beneath the surface clear his thoughts and bring him back to a state of relative calm.

Calm, that is, until he spots Galileo making his way into the water and goes still, treading water as unobtrusively as he can while taking in the fact that yes, that sure is a bigass water beast, all right.]

Seven hells — a kumbhira? Here?

[Little does he know he's about to make a new friend, whether he likes it or not — evidently his swimming has attracted Galileo's attention in a positive way, and they're about to become swimming buddies.]

— but it might just save your life;
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE — NETWORK.

[Strange how that deja vu just keeps on coming — but this time, when he sees the network start to fill with people playing Two Truths and a Lie, he can't help but smile a little at it, oddly nostalgic despite it all.]

un: archon

1) i've died twice and had my soul wrenched from my body once
2) my eyes have changed color since i was born
3) i've not ever played this game before

[Well...okay then! Have at!]

[OOC: Thancred is a very light CRAU, mostly for the sake of skipping some of the pro forma "I'm from a fantasy universe and what weird-ass isekai situation is this" aspects. He will not recognize any characters without prior player consent!]

senua / hellblade

[gramrs]

( HELLO I just wanted to throw Senua on here for fun but before I go on, big content warnings for auditory hallucinations and potential visual hallucinations. Senua has a form of psychosis and experiences both. If you’d like to tag her and would prefer no mention of either of those just lmk and I’ll leave it out. Also! No spoilers from me for the second game since it just came out this week so no worries there! )

i. broken me and broken them

a. (cw: auditory hallucinations)

( senua wakes to the smell of burning and a cacophony of wretched sounds. hazy memories of the crash and of the fanciful, impossible trip that came before it flicker in her mind, just out of focus. she doesn’t know this place. she doesn’t understand the flaming structure she’d been tossed from. none of this is familiar to her.

scrambling to her feet, she looks around, drawing in ragged breaths as her hand instinctively flies to the sword at her hip.

a sword that isn't there.

”oh- oh no. oh no, oh no. what's she going to do?”

“she doesn't know.”

“she's scared. look at her. she's scared. she doesn't have her sword. she's useless without her sword.”

her head aches. she doesn’t have to touch it to know there’s blood flowing from her temple. it doesn’t matter now — she has to push on. she has to help.

so she runs to the structure, burying her nose in the crook of her arm as she coughs through the smoke. she can hear them, the screams. people trapped inside.

”they’re already dead, senua. you're too late.”

“she thought she could save them! ha!”

there’s a pounding sound that catches her attention — someone trying to escape. she pries her fingers around a panel and starts to pull, desperately trying to make space for them to slip out. )

Can you hear me? I’m trying to help!

b.

( or, you might find her in the middle of the commotion, watching as people rush around in a panic. she wants to help but her head is aching and the world is swimming and she can’t make sense of it.

so she reaches out, grabs hold of someone as they make their way past her. her fingers are like iron, and she stares up at the person like a cornered animal. ready to bolt, ready to fight. ready to do whatever she must. )

Who are you? What is this place?

( she speaks with an urgency in her voice, soft but direct. )

ii. before i make the offering

( once things calm, senua sets to work picking her way through the train in search of anything useful. she hopes to find her sword, but she barely expects to. this feels like a cruel test, but for what she can’t begin to guess.

she’s dragging a crate aside when she sees it — a speck of black, creeping in from another car. rot. darkness. something sinister that repulses her and forces her to take several steps back. she’s not the only one in this train car and she stretches out her arm towards her companion as if to shield them from the thing. )

Watch out, ( she hisses, never taking her eyes away from it. ) It’s — there's something there.

iii. i can feel the warning signs running around my mind (network)

un: senua

1. I learnt to use a sword by watching someone else.

2. I have a great hound called Garm, named for the guardian of Helheim.

3. I've faced gods and lived.

iv. wildcard

( i'm up for pretty much whatever, feel free to throw me a pm if you want )

Penric kin Jurald | World of Five Gods

[learnedfool]

1. First Train In

Penric is pretty sure he’s dreaming. The countryside doesn’t look like the countryside surrounding Vilnoc, and it is moving too fast. So, he’s inclined to go with it, except for a mental voice in his ear.

Pen. Pen. Penpenpen… GODSDAMMIT, Pen!

Pen wasn’t sure what Desdemona normally did while he slept, but this was unusual enough that he started considering ‘something is wrong’ the moment before things suddenly stopped. He was thrown from his seat onto the floor, and felt several sharp pains send lines of fire across his back.

He tried to get to his feet, testing to see if anything was broken. He definitely felt blood coming from a cut on his forehead, which he hoped was shallow. “Des? Sight, please.”

“I can’t!” his demon wailed in his head. “Something is very wrong. I can’t feel anything except through you.”

“Are you all right besides that?’” Pen didn’t know what all right besides that would mean to her, but Des’s distress was not helping focus his mind, any more than the lingering dreamlike detachment.

“I don’t know!”

Penric is disoriented enough that what he’d intended as a silent conversation between himself and Desdemona was actually conducted aloud — the same voice, but two different accents and ways of speaking, including emotional register.

2. Two Truths and a Lie

UN: nohandsbutours

1. I am a sorcerer, possessing a powerful demon.
2. I am afraid of heights.
3. My brother in law once had pirates pay him to take me away.


[cue Pen somewhere trying to figure out how to delete a post.]

3. Custom Prompt
Their control over Des’s nature was coming back unreliably, and Penric was starting to notice concerns that happened when you had an untrained sorcerer walking around — chaos was being dumped without either of their control. It meant that small disasters would happen regularly. Things would untie, or jam, or otherwise misbehave, and the more complex, the more likely it was to happen. Penric himself was noticing that he was starting to get clumsy in ways he hadn’t been in decades. “Sorry! Still a bit out of sorts!”

4. Wildcard
[Feel free to ask for a different prompt; I realize I'm probably loan canon warrior-ing this one. This is beccastareyes]

[Also for those characters whose powers are settling down, feel free to detect that Pen has a powerful chaos elemental sharing his body (aka the demon, aka Desdemona), though he's always the one in control, even if he's doing things like letting her use his mouth/vocal chords to speak.]

dracule mihawk | opla

[swordlord]

First Train In: Post Crash

(Mihawk was not what one would consider to be the charitable sort. He didn't go out of his way to help people and even in this situation, he wasn't doing anything for the public good. The man stood tall, staring down the flames dancing across the oil spoil as they began to consume more and more of the surroundings. He noticed the resilience of the buildings, filed that information away, and proceeded to pull his obnoxiously large sword from behind his back.

He cuts it just once through the air and it causes a massive sharp wave of wind to snuff the fires out completely. It was one of many, but at least this section was contained for now. He starts to move about, cutting down other patches of fire. If he comes across another person, whether injured or not, he merely stops to look at them, an irritated look growing on his face.)

Do step aside. You will only get in the way. (And he's already dealing with a bad enough headache. Which, to be fair, he's....covered in blood from being hauled through one of the train's windows. He might have some broken ribs too, but if Mihawk's in pain, he certainly doesn't show it. But maybe someone can convince this freak behemoth of a man to sit down and nurse a juice box or something.)

Unless, of course, you want to catch on fire. Then by all means, be an inconvenience. (Actually, maybe don't offer him help. He's a dick.)

Assimilation/Arrivals

(Not to overstate the point, but Mihawk truly was not the helping sort. He'd killed more people than he cared to remember and left even more to die during perilous circumstances.

But that mysterious black goo found its way to his lower back without Mihawk even realizing it, and with his dramatic ass jacket, there's no real way of anyone seeing the goo to know he's been claimed. So now? Now he's acting completely different than usual.

By helping people. If he sees a character falling from the sky, he's bounding forward and using nearby train debris to jump off of and catch people. It's effortless enough for him, and when he lands, he will set people down carefully.)

Take a breath, now. It won't do you any good to panic. (He still delivers everything in the same drawling, bitchy tone, but there's something unusually soft in his typically frigid gaze. He was going to vomit over this later.

If he comes across an injured character, he'll even stop and offer a hand or ask if they need help. How embarrassing.)

Two Truths & A Lie (UN: Mihawk)

1. I don't believe in the point of maintaining close relationships.

2. I don't even know how much my bounty is anymore.

3. I don't believe there is any point in trying anything if you do not intend to be the best.