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Got the morbs.

✖ VICTORIA'S SECRET

Ⅰ. ARRIVAL & THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The ferry pulls into port in the evening, when shadows are long and gas lamps burn through a veil of mist. Dozens of other ships are docked as well, with men unloading crates and boxes from their holds. Beyond the wet wood and lapping sound of the ocean, a city looms like a charcoal smudge on a purple sky. The air is smoggy and thick, and the river that flows from the sea into the city smells foul. Walk the cobbled streets and you will find that the city is crowded and filthy, but full of merchants, pubs, and theatres. Vast wealth and extreme poverty exist side by side.

In the center of the sprawling city is a temple with towering gothic spires and huge stained glass windows depicting all manner of beings that might be gods or angels or monsters. You could look for hours and still be finding new figures plucked straight from books of myth and religion. Inside, the main chamber has a grand vaulted ceiling, and dozens of pews line the aisle up to the altar, which is oddly anticlimactic compared to the lavish surroundings: just a plain stone table with a lit oil lamp in the centre. Two hallways branch off on either side of the room: one leads to private baths and a communal kitchen, the other to monastic style chambers with thin beds. Not the most comfortable place to stay, but it’ll do in a pinch!

Alternatively you can venture into the city and find yourself some other lodging - every Traveler has been supplied with some pocket money. Just be careful that it isn’t stolen by some street urchin. Travelers can also find an era-appropriate outfit that will fit them perfectly laid in the first sleeping chamber they visit.

Notes:
1. Unless this is your character’s first island, the High Temple and anything you may have stored there is off-limits this month.

2. Please remember to mark threads appropriately with Content Warnings when necessary.

3. The city greatly resembles Victorian London, and the technology and general way of life is all of that era. Feel free to explore the city! These prompts are a jumping off point - how they affect your character and their development is up to you.

4. Most food is safe to eat, and is consumable by non-human entities. Most. Some of it’s going to be pretty gross or cooked improperly, so be careful.

5. The people in the city are normal humans unless otherwise indicated. Killing them is possible and will affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation.

6. Have fun!

Ⅱ. SEANCE
CW: grief, past trauma.
Perhaps you overhear talk of it at a pub, or maybe you’re handed a small card as you push your way through the crowded city streets. Maybe you just wander in by accident. However it happens, you find yourself being ushered into the parlour of one Miss Mary Price: Spiritualist.

You and several other people are instructed to sit at a round table in a very dark and musty room. The walls are covered in thick black curtains, and maybe you’re the type to suspect that there’s someone hiding behind them somewhere. Once everyone is seated, Mary Price herself enters the room. The lights are all extinguished save for a single candle.

Mary calls out to the spirits. They communicate through a series of knocks, or the movement of a Ouija board. Someone at the table is put in contact with a deceased aunt who reveals the location of a family heirloom. Someone else is able to say goodbye to a son.

Mary Price looks at you with eyes so dark they look black, and asks, “What haunts you?”

Maybe you answer honestly. Maybe you don’t answer at all, but that doesn’t matter because the spirit tapping around the room is more than happy to narc on you and tell the whole room what or who it is that you cannot forget.

You can deny it all you like, but the spirits don’t have a reason to lie. And if you try to mess up the seance, you will spend a month being hounded by an angry poltergeist.

Notes:
1. The spirit can communicate through knocks, the Ouija, actually vocalising through the medium, or via ectoplasm.

2. What haunts your character does not have to be the memory of a dead person. It can be an event - maybe they’ve never gotten over losing that science fair in grade three. It is the feeling of being haunted that is important.

3. If you choose to trash the seance, the spirit will follow you for the rest of the month. It can range from annoying to actually dangerous.

Ⅲ. THE RIPPER
CW: murder, gore, violence.
You’re lost at night. Maybe you were in the pub too late, or maybe you were searching for more illicit fun - weren’t there opium dens around this time? - or maybe you just weren’t keeping an eye on the time. However it happened, you’re on the streets in the dark.

It’s very foggy; you can barely see a foot in front of you. The streetlamps look like dimly burning ghosts and when the odd person passes you they are felt more than seen, just a darker shadow in a world of shifting shades.

Very suddenly you hear a scream - short, and swallowed up quickly by the fog. Still, it’s enough to get you to turn and hurry down a narrow alleyway.

Sprawled on the ground amid a lake of blood is a body. It’s immediately apparent that this person is probably beyond help - their throat has been slashed ear to ear. Your appearance was not expected, however, and you can see that you’ve startled the killer: they’re running down the alley in the opposite direction.

You have a few choices: you can chase the killer and attempt to catch them, you can try to help the victim, you can get the authorities, or you can just walk away.

What will you do?

Notes:
1. The inspiration for this prompt is Jack the Ripper but you do not have to use that case as a basis for your killer.

2. You can get as involved with this as you would like. You can have your character catch the killer in a chase, or form your very own detective squad and hunt them down that way.

3. Naturally, walking away from a potential serial killer might not be great for your Scrywatch grading!

Ⅳ. RESURRECTION MEN
CW: dead bodies, grave robbing.
You’re not entirely clear on how you agreed to this. Maybe it was a barroom bet gone wrong. Maybe you’re broke enough that you need money fast. Or maybe you want to help some wannabe medical students. However it happened, you’re in the cemetery.

And you’ve got a shovel.

Time to rob some graves! You’ve convinced yourself somehow that this isn’t morally reprehensible, and so you and your partner are just going to get down to business! What corpse should you unearth? You feel like a kid in a candy store!

The problem comes once you’ve unearthed the body because it seems terribly familiar. Which is… creepy. Creepier still when it starts talking.

Maybe it’s a family member, or an old friend. Maybe an ex partner. Whoever it is, they immediately start telling your fellow grave robber about some incident from your past that you just. Can’t. Let. Go. Of. And even if you whack it with a shovel it won’t stop. Bad corpse! BAD Corpse!

Which of course is exactly what you have to try and do if you want this chatty Cathy of a corpse to shut the hell up.

Notes:
1. If you do NOT let go of this past event, the corpse will follow you the rest of the night singing Henry the Eighth I am, I am.

Sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

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Really? he finds himself speaking and thinking the word at once as they return to their present reality with Kyle's tongue in his mouth.

"Mmmh... Heh. I kind of thought you'd be pissed about how self serving it is or something. I mean it is. Sort of. I dunno I'm kind of on the fence about the inherent selfishness of wanting to do everything for your boyfriend."

He corrects the hat on Kyle's head that his grabbiness knocked slightly out of place. "If you're up for it, let's get a couple more. Just in case one of my diggers keeled over or something."

Edited 2022-01-16 04:59 (UTC)

"Mmhmm, really." He pecks Quentin's lips one last time.

"I mean... it IS also going to benefit medical science," Kyle rationalises. "It's not pretty, maybe, but it does have to happen. And like... this side of the graveyard a lot of graves don't even have markers, they're probably criminals and stuff." He can be very good at convincing himself of things.

"I am."

The next corpse is, well. A corpse. Not pleasant to look at, of course, but not particularly unusual.

The next grave is unmarked, and mostly unearthed already by Quentin's digger. Kyle hops in to finish the job, shovel hitting the lid of a coffin before long. He lets Quentin lift it out of the hole - telekinesis is much easier for that - and then busts the latch and opens it.

Kyle takes one look, goes white, and slams the coffin closed again.

"On second thought, let's just go," he says.

But it's too late. The coffin lid is thrown open with a bang, and a bloated but childlike figure sits up, grinning.

"Kahl," the corpse of Eric Cartman says.

Kyle groans helplessly.

"Did you tell your boyfriend, Kahl? About how you ruined my life? Or did you just spin your sneaky little lies about how it was all my fault?"

"Yeah! See! That's what I'm saying! If anything we're saving them from the Cholera epidemic a few thousand lives early!" Once Kyle likes an idea, he talks himself into. Quentin, being exactly the same way, loves that about his boyfriend.

Hoisting another body on the wagon puts a spring in his step. Almost like this has turned into some kind of goal-oriented couples activity now. Until that next coffin snaps shut and it's Kyle who's skin looks pallid.

"And fall short of an even dozen?" event as he's asking the question it stops mattering. Instead that whiny voice that sounds like it's produced directly in someone's gullet permeates the still damp air of the grave yard.

Quentin's fascination has him staring at the owner of the voice. "Is that.. is that even a corpse? It's gotta be freshly killed to be so bloated... What's it talking about, Kyle?"

"Exactly!" They're really both too good at this.

Kyle, all good humour departed, almost retreats a step. Almost. But he can't stand to back down from Cartman, even in child zombie form.

"I'm not bloated, I'm big boned," the corpse declares.

"I don't know," Kyle replies. "I didn't ruin his life. He deserved every single thing he ever got."

"Not true," the little zombie boy snaps back. "What about the time you laughed at me for being HIV positive?"

"That didn't ruin your life, you used it to nearly ruin MINE!" Kyle holds his shovel so tightly his knuckles are white.

"Okay, okay, get the sand out of your vagina Kahl, jeez. You know how this works already, it's YOU manifesting why I'm here." He looks at Quentin. "Like I want to hang around his goddamn daywalker ass."

Kyle passes a hand down his face, trying to calm himself down.

"...is this about your XBox?"

"Very astute of you, Kahl. I believe there's hope for you yet."

Kyle sighs and looks at Quentin. "I. Destroyed most of his electronics. But it's because we thought he was trolling all the girls at school!"

"Still justifying it. Oh, Kahl."

"Unless you're the Hulk, there's no such thing as big boned," Quentin says rolling his eyes. Blissfully unaware of the futility in such an argument.

It's not often Quentin Quire is rendered speechless, but for a moment he's left to watch this conversation volley between one and the other as he scrambles to catch up. Piecing together all he knows about either party to paint a clearer picture of the nefarious character he knows this boy to be in Kyle's life when Quentin has a hard time seeing the dreaded Eric Cartman as anything but an annoying kid with a trans fats problem.

"Don't try to appeal to me, Pork Rind. I like his daywalker ass," Quentin grumbles. Offended at the very idea that this corpse thinks he could sell him on some lesser idea of who Kyle really is.

"Do you... still feel guilty about that?" he asks, fitting his hand in Kyle's when it drops from the other man's face. "Because based on even like one of the things you've told me about this kid, you really probably shouldn't waste the energy."

Kyle sighs. "Yes. Yes, I stil feel guilty about it, because he WASN'T responsible.

"My dad was."

In the coffin, Cartman chuckles. "This is hilarious, for seriously."

Kyle squeezes Quentin's hand. "It's so stupid. I shouldn't still be hanging onto that."

"You hang on to a lot of shit involving me," the corpse points out as it buffs its nails on its mouldering shirt. "You should probably examine that."

"Shut the fuck up, we're talking about your XBox!"

"One of these days I'm gonna need a total mental catalogue of your parents," he says with a narrow eyed look of unadulterated fascination.

From where they stand Quentin knocks the coffin lid shut when Cartman talks. Even if it doesn't stay down it's just nice to hit him with it and blame it on the wind or something.

He closes both his hands around Kyle's and drags him a little closer. "It could be a stupid thing, but you're not stupid for hanging onto it. Intellect has no bearing on trauma. You can't like, outthink grief."

"You good? Do you need a minute? Like away from here? And him?"

Kyle nods. "It's a lot," he mutters.

Cartman shouts in protest when the coffin lid slams him back down. "AY!"

Kyle focuses on Quentin, smiling a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I think that it bugs me so much because it was unfair. When I broke his shit for giving me HIV? That's fine. It was fair. But this? We were wrong."

"And it was MY dad. Which is horrible on its own. But it makes me feel more responsible even though it wasn't my fault. So. Yeah, it bothers me."

He sighs, leaning in to kiss Quentin's lips softly. "Yeah. I think we're pushing our luck, heh."

He looks back at the coffin. "Cartman? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

For a wonder, there's no answer.

"I get that impression," he smiles fondly and tucks himself up against Kyle's side.

"Hey, it happens," he says softly in a rare show of earnest sympathy. "Even to smart people."

He wouldn't think twice about whisking them away again if that's what Kyle wanted. It seems the least he can do for his boyfriend's own patience and understanding. But neither does it shock him that Kyle seems stronger than him. At least when it comes to admitting his mistakes without ambiguity.

He scowls when there's no response from the casket. "Hey! Butter Bean! He's talking to you!"

"I'm just thankful I didn't catch them fucking as often as Ike did."

Kyle squeezes Quentin's hands. He looks over at the coffin, brow furrowed.

"Cartman? ...Eric?"

Kyle lets go of his boyfriend and walks over to the coffin. He hesitates for a second, then grabs the lid and pulls it open to look inside.

The corpse inside looks nothing like Cartman. It's an adult, bearded and tall.

"...huh. Guess we got your even number," he calls over to Quentin. "Let's put it on the cart."

Quentin winces like this is a pain he knows all too well. "One day when I'm feeling brave I'll tell you another horror of growing up reading minds."

The quiet of that casket is unnerving and for a moment Quentin's reluctant to let go of Kyle's hand.

The sound of some inconsequential surprise relaxes him enough to creep forward for a look of his own. With a slow nod, he agrees and together they load up another body.

"Did that seem too easy? I kind of don't trust it. He's not like a shapeshifter or something right?"

"I would be interested in hearing it, actually. It sounds traumatic. Oh my god, do you think it made you kinkier?"

Kyle actually laughs. "No, no. Not in the mutant sense. In the sense of a normal human being miraculously able to convince people that he's something he's not in spite of YEARS of evidence to the contrary? Then yes." He shakes his head.

"I guess I just let go of it enough to satisfy whatever powers are behind all of this garbage. OR he'll pop out from under my bed while I'm sleeping and eat my brains. Did I ever tell you I'd seen zombies before I got here?"

Quentin pulls a face. "Ugh, I don't want to do the psychological calculus on that thanks."

"Hm," Quentin bites his tongue about that for fear of drawing attention to the ways a statement like that could be used to describe himself.

"You're... kind of good at letting stuff go, huh?" he asks. Maybe that shouldn't be a question. It does feel like Kyle's already forgiven him a number of trespasses. "No. You didn't. Tell me about zombies while we move these bodies and I'll tell you about how I brought that girl back from the dead once."

"Okay, okay, sorry. Heh."

There is plenty of evidence that Kyle may have imprinted somewhat on his childhood nemesis. There is part of him that craves the challenge provided by that dynamic. At least Quentin provides more benefits, and a healthier relationship.

Kyle shrugs. "I don't think I am. I'm very sentimental. I don't forget much. But I think maybe so much has happened that I can't possibly hold a grudge too long or I'd go nuts. That and I guess I'm kinda... I can't NOT believe in the good of people. Mostly."

"They're not even my biologicals but if you knew them you'd know how UN-sexual they are," he feigns a shudder. "Like casting a porno at a PTA meeting."

There was a time Quentin thought he needed a nemesis too. Not out of any personal slight, just because he was bored enough without that he found himself craving the challenge. So long as things keep changing that may never become the case here, but there is something provocative about Kyle's ability to put him in check and like him at the same time.

The cart trails after them as they go, which understandably creeps people out, but Quentin seems unmoved by whatever scene he makes.

"Which is bananas frankly," he chuckles. "I mean, don't get me wrong optimism looks adorable on you, but given your experiences I wouldn't hold it against you if you were a much crueler person." He tugs Kyle's hand a little just to draw his eyes around. "Why do you think that is? I mean. How do you still... think people aren't just a total lost cause?"

"My mom was on the PTA," Kyle days, smiling a little.

He should probably be a little grossed out by their body cart, but it's honestly just background noise; Kyle is focused on Quentin.

"I dunno, I just do. I can't not at least try and stay positive. I know that makes me seem naive."

"And do YOU wanna see your mom in a porno?" He says like his expects this should prove his point.

"Maybe. If that were the only think someone knew about you. Yeah. They might think that," Quentin shrugs. "Maybe I thought that. For a minute," he blushes.
"But you're not naive. You're just... I dunno. Determined I guess. It's sweet."

Now tell me about zombies, babe."

"God, no. ...Cartman's mom was. Not about the PTA, just like, other stuff."

Kyle laughs. "Uh, yeah, I know. You had NO problem telling me what you thought when we first met, don't worry."

He leans over to steal a quick kiss. "Thank you."

"Okay, so. It was Halloween. The dead started coming back to life, but everyone said it was just pinkeye. Except Chef. Chef knew what was up. The only way to turn everyone back was to kill the first zombie, so I chainsawed it in half and everything was okay.

"I had a super sweet Dracula costume that year. ...Cartman was Hitler until the school made him change."

As usual, there's a lot to unpack in Kyle's stories.

"Cartman's mom was... in a porno??" Quentin asks like he thinks he's misunderstood something here. "Actually, you know what. Based on some of the things I know about this guy maybe that's not surprising. My parents were just trailer trash and I came this close to supervillainy so. That's probably a factor in his origin story."

It seems to bode well that Kyle can laugh now about whatever Quentin probably said, but nevertheless he hopes nothing stuck. "Did I say something terrible? I don't actually remember a lot of it after the open bar."

The more of this story Kyle tells the more Quentin squints at him like he's forming theories in his head and filing all these details away to build some greater case for his understanding of Kyle the world from which he hails.

"You... Kyle. Are you a superhero?" he asks.

Kyle nods, chewing his lower lip. "Yeeeeah. Uhm. She was kinda... I guess a sex worker. At the time none of us REALLY understood what it all meant, but... yeah. You're definitely right."

He shakes his head. "Nothing I hadn't heard before, don't worry. I don't even remember specifics." It's clear he's plastered over any insults with new, more pleasant memories.

Kyle blinks. "What? No. No, I just had a chainsaw."

"It's almost enough to feel bad for the kid," he muses. "But now that I've heard his voice with my own functioning ears I'm not sure I can."

"Good," Quentin smiles. "I say a lot of things I don't always mean. Or change my mind about later. But if I say something that actually bugs you, I'm fully expecting you'll tell me."

"I don't mean that time specifically. I just mean at large. Are there superheroes where you come from? And are you sure you weren't one?"

Edited 2022-01-17 05:41 (UTC)

"Yeah. I do, sometimes, but then I remember some other stupid bullshit he pulled."

Kyle laughs again. "No! Well, Captain Hindsight, but he was just a guy who pointed stuff out after the fact.

"I pretended to be one as a kid? That's the closest we came to superheroes, sorry." He can't begin to imagine why Quentin would ask such a thing.

"You don't owe him shit," he says. Kyle knows this he suspects, but nevertheless protecting his boyfriend from his own do-goodery is always high on Quentin's to do list.

It's hard not to remark on the existence of Captain Hindsight and Quentin opens his mouth to do so before soon shutting it again with a shake of his head. One thing at a time.

"You say so many things that require their own specific line of intense questioning," he sighs. "I'm just saying what might be normal for where you come from— it's not normal Kyle. And you're always like I'm just a normal guy! but the more I know you the less I buy it. So I have to wonder. Are you running towards normalcy because you've literally never had that? Like a real Prince and the Pauper situation. Or are you just oblivious because normal in South Park is waaaay out of whack with most incarnations of Earth."

Around back of the medical school is a dimly lit entrance where the maintenance workers come and go. There, a shifty looking fellow in a white coat slinks out of the shadows nervously.

"You're Quire, right?" he looks at Kyle when he asks. "Is, is that... how many is that?"

Kyle raises his eyebrows. "Aren't you host to a bird god? And you live on a sentient island? That's not normal either! And okay, the zombies were strange, but MOST of the time it was just typical small town stuff. People being dumb, for the most part. I really am just some guy, Quentin."

In the seedy alley, Kyle shakes his head and points at Quentin. "He's Quire. I'm the help. And it's an even dozen. Way more than you were expecting, I'm sure."

"Once and future host —technically. And I know I'm not normal! That's like, the first thing I tell people! But you're always trying to tell people you are normal when you're definitely not and I just don't understand why!"

The already skittish buyer of their ill-gotten gains looks like much more unnerved by the conversation that Quentin has so shamelessly in front of him.

"Uh, should I—"

"You should pay up, that's what you should do," he says.

"They didn't give me enough to cover— what did you say? A dozen? That's..."

"I know, I know. More than you were expecting. It's fine. Give me what you have. I'll come back in the morning for the outstanding balance. I'll even spare you interest if you're here with it before noon."

Nervously the young man leafs through a pocket full of bills counting it up as he turns the whole handful over to Quentin. "I'm not sure there's presently enough staff to ahm, collect. In a timely manner, that is."

"What are you an intern? Where's the head of surgery? He told me all the bodies I could carry. This is roughly that. Where you put them now? That's on you."

Edited 2022-01-17 07:52 (UTC)

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