polymods: (Default)
polymods ([personal profile] polymods) wrote in [community profile] polylogs2022-01-02 12:44 pm

Got the morbs.

POLYMYTHOS: VICTORIA'S SECRET

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

nanban: (05)

Hawks | BNHA | OTA

[personal profile] nanban 2022-01-02 10:43 pm (UTC)(link)
A; ARRIVAL/TEMPLE

All in all, Hawks isn't too thrilled about this one. The last time there was fog, way back when he'd gotten off the boat for the first time, there had been some undead nightmare creatures in it. It makes him wary. But nothing creeps out of the fog here near the temple so that's good, right? Maybe?

Catch Hawks in the kitchen, predictably, always in search of some kind of snack. Endless appetite, this one.

"Man, when do we get some cool futuristic tech island, y'know?" he says to anyone who comes within earshot.

Or maybe he opens with, "I think I preferred the mall to this."

You might also catch him outside as he lands, coming back from a fairly routine flight, feathers wet with drops from the misty air. "Even I'm having a hard time seeing through this," he says.


B; SEANCE TW: mentions of child abuse

Hawks gets the card on his way out of a pub. He's entirely sober, having only gone in there to eat and eavesdrop on the locals' conversation. Is there something they're meant to do here, something to fight?

He doesn't believe in things like seances and whatnot, but what else is he doing? He knows better than to do this. He knows that the islands have their own rules, that things that can't and don't and shouldn't happen can and do and will happen here. He goes anyway.

Mostly it seems like hocus pocus to him, this whole seance affair, but he goes along, acts impressed, whatever he feels is required in the moment as the other patrons have their chats with their dead grannies or whatever. Hawks doesn't have any dead relatives, so he figures he's pretty safe here. There's nothing in his past to dig up, right?

Haha, he thought.

What haunts you?

Hawks acts like nothing is wrong in his past, but he doesn't have a clean slate. That light on his wrist is yellow for a reason, right? But this haunting thing, it has nothing to do with the ScryWatch colour. Instead, the voice he hears, the voice the whole room hears, says his actual name, something he himself sure hasn't said to anyone. That was always part of the condition of saving his mom from the streets, of becoming a hero.

His dad's disgraceful name couldn't be part of it.

"Takami Keigo," the voice says.

Hawks's eyes go wide and his face pales a little. Ah, shit. His name isn't a secret, not really. It's his name, after all. But that family name, Takami, does haunt him. His dad was a piece of shit, after all.

"Did you actually grow up to be useful or are you just playing pretend?" The voice continues. Hawks can't decide if it sounds more like his mom or one of the Hero Commission.

"Cute trick," he says. He's a hero, but save him?


C; THE RIPPER TW: MURDER, BLOOD

Hawks is out later than he ought to be, maybe still shaken up by that stupid seance thing that happened earlier in the month (luckily he isn't being haunted all month, but man, that wasn't a fun time he's looking to repeat ever). Maybe he's just feeling reckless.

He's walking, not flying, since the fog is thick here, and even he can't see through it well enough to risk flying into a building or something stupid like that. When he hears that scream, though, he takes off after it. He's not far off the ground, but he just moves faster if he's flying.

You can catch him at the murder scene.

"Holy shit," he says. It's obviously too late for the victim, bleeding out in the street. Hawks realises he's not alone, that someone else has followed the scream. Hawks knows his own strengths, so he responds immediately.

"See if you can help them," he says. "Call for police or something, I dunno. I'm gonna chase down this bastard." He's fast, so this makes sense.

Your move, temporary hero partner!


D; WILDCARD

[ Got something else in mind? Cool, drop me a starter here or find me on plurk at [plurk.com profile] boywonder and we'll do it! ]
detectivemiracle: (182)

Chloe Decker | Lucifer | OTA

[personal profile] detectivemiracle 2022-01-03 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
I. The Temple

The era-appropriate dress she feels obligated to put on is much less uncomfortable than she would've anticipated, but that doesn't mean she's not still incredibly awkward in it, and misses her jeans and sensible shoes almost immediately.

"I don't suppose anyone in the city would sell me a pair of pants?" she mutters, almost to herself, as she adjusts the skirts again.

In another part of the temple, she might be found staring almost absently at a beautiful stained glass window. It appears to depict - well, a demon, or devil of some sort. He's red, he's got wings, horns, a tail. Chloe frowns, almost scowling at it, oblivious for the moment to the rest of her surroundings.

II. Seance (cw: grief, trauma)

Even a couple of years ago, Chloe would've said this sort of thing is all bunk. She still mostly thinks that, but that doesn't mean she's not a little bit curious about it. Especially here. After all, in these strange worlds they keep being brought to, just about anything is possible, right?

She was only intending to be a spectator, not a participant. So when a question is addressed to her - what haunts you? - she's somewhat taken aback.

"What? I don't -"

"Mommy, tell me Daddy's going to get better. Tell me he's coming home."

A child's voice rings from the medium's throat, and Chloe looks stricken.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I'm so sorry."

"He's dead! He's dead and it's your fault!"

III. Ripper (cw: blood/gore)

Chloe isn't really a fan of walking around this city alone, especially at night, but for whatever reason, here she is. It's dark, foggy and creepy, and the streets and alleys are narrow and winding - it's really nothing like LA, and she's starting to get worried she'll get lost when she hears it - something like a scream, cut off abruptly.

"Hello?" she calls, and turns down a dark alley, all alert for any signs of trouble. If she has to, she'll rip her dress up to fight or run. "Hello?"

There's a choking sort of gurgle, and Chloe turns toward it, only seeing the person as she's about to step in the blood trailing from the wound in her neck. "Oh my god -"

A shadowy figure darts down the alley, and she yells, "Hey!" after him, but she doesn't go chasing him. His victim is still alive, if only for a few moments, and even if she's going to die, Chloe would never leave someone to bleed out alone in a dark alley. She kneels, putting her hands over the wound, doing what she can to staunch the bleeding. "Help!" she yells. "Help! I need medical help!"

IV. wildcard

[ Got any other ideas? Toss me a starter or shoot me a plurk at [plurk.com profile] frodabaggins! ]
prodigalmess: (Default)

Malcolm Bright | Prodigal Son

[personal profile] prodigalmess 2022-01-04 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL/TEMPLE
The view from the boat makes it pretty obvious what kind of island this is. As someone who enjoys history, Malcolm's pretty excited to be visiting a version of Victorian London. Or at least he is until the smell hits him. That's the thing about history. A time and place may look one way in a picture, but a picture can't fully express what it's like to be there. The dirt and stench of the docks waft over him as he disembarks. History sure is fun! He only hopes the temple is cleaner.

Fortunately, it is. The soaring gothic architecture belies the simplicity inside. The bed in the room that he picks isn't great, but he's able to attach his restraints to it, so it should work. At least it's a room with a door that he can lock and no roommates. Except for Sunshine, who has been chattering away in her cage. Malcolm sets it down on the small table in the room, glad to have her here with him.

Even though he picked up some suits at The Mall, he's pleased to find a smart Victorian suit in the closet. He's never been so happy to blend in.

After he changes, he leaves his room and locks the door with a clunky metal key. Malcolm smiles and tips his hat to whomever happens to pass him in the hall.


III. THE RIPPER
Malcolm sees the crowds in the early daylight and is drawn to the scene. A few policemen are milling around the area, trying to keep the people back, but Malcolm manages to slip through.

The body of the young woman looks ghostly pale, her throat slashed from ear to ear. A grisly Victorian murder? Malcolm feels an excitement surge through him like he hasn't felt in months. He tries not to let it show too much on his face, otherwise the police will want to question him.

One of the of the policemen has a mop and it takes Malcolm a second to realize what he's doing with it. He's about the mop up the pool of blood around the victim.

"No!" Malcolm cries, jumping forward, one hand out. "No, no, you're contaminating the crime scene."

He looks around, hoping that there's somebody else in the crowd who'll back him up.


IV. RESURRECTION MEN
Malcolm had not intended to become a Victorian cop, but here he is: chasing after body snatchers in a moonlit graveyard. After helping the local police with the murder case, they've allowed him to join as a consultant of sorts. It's similar to his job back home and he's thrilled to be doing it. Grave robbing isn't a major crime in the 21st century, mostly because people are able to donate their bodies to science, so medical students aren't short of having cadavers to practice on. Strange how times and crimes change.

The grave robbers drop the recently unearthed corpse and run away when Malcolm and the person that he's with come upon them. They give chase, but the body snatchers are familiar enough with the graveyard that they're easily able to evade Malcolm and run off into the night.

With a sigh, he returns to the corpse, shining his lantern over it. The body is recently dead, still relatively well-preserved. There's something about it; the blonde hair sprawled over its face gives him pause. Carefully, he reaches down to push off the hair and the corpse opens its eyes and sits up.

What the fuck?

"A-Ainsley?!" Malcolm asks in utter shock. His sister wasn't dead back home, or at least she wasn't when he left.

"I killed him," the corpse says in a raspy voice, looking around at the other people there. "Malcolm couldn't kill him, but he helped me get rid of the body."


V. WILDCARD
[ Want something else with Malcolm Bright: Victorian Cop? Send me a PM or message me at [plurk.com profile] sparks_fly. ]
unkindled_madness: (spellcasting)

Sephiroth | OTA

[personal profile] unkindled_madness 2022-01-04 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)
I. The City

[Sephiroth is, at least, no longer carrying around the Masamune everywhere he goes. He doesn't love leaving his sword at the Temple, but there are private rooms and he feels reasonably confident that most of his fellow Travellers know better than to touch his weapon.

Then again, being out of doors is decidedly unpleasant. He doesn't change into the 'era-appropriate' garb, but he does take the extremely unusual measure of braiding his hair and tucking it into his coat. It's an incomplete solution. He's sure he can
feel the soot settling into his hair, slowly turning it a darker grey.

Which is why you may, ultimately, encounter him in the vicinity of a hat shop, considering this serious conundrum. Must he hide the hair completely for the sake of protecting it?]



II. Magic Practice

[Is it sacrilegious to set up empty crates near the altar for the sake of target practice? Oh well. The temple's main chamber is the largest available space for this, and at least he isn't throwing spells at the altar itself.

His focus remains, for now, on elemental magic: fire, ice, lightning, air. Just working on achieving a familiar level of control and speed of casting. A consistency in the basics before he moves on to more advanced spells.

A shame there aren't actual monsters to practice on, though...]



III. Haunted
((CW: potential references to child abuse, human experiments))

[Sephiroth isn't familiar with seances, but given his expanding understanding of the nature of magic, contacting the dead seems far from implausible. He isn't clear on how long it takes a spirit to return to the Lifestream, nor is he ever sure the inhabitants are fully human, so... maybe. Call it a professional curiosity that takes him to Price's home.

The amount of theatre involved quickly rouses his skepticism, and when Price asks
him, his answer is 'no one.' How could anyone be haunting him when he's in an entirely different dimension from the people he's killed? Apparently the 'spirits' aren't satisfied with that. Whoever or whatever is behind it, the Ouija board gets as far as spelling out H-O-J before Sephiroth abruptly stands, knocks the indicator off the table, and storms out of the house.

Maybe you're present to witness this, or maybe you encounter him afterwards, once his ghostly new friend has begun its harrassment. The first couple times random street trash is thrown his way, he attributes it to nearby children, though an outside observer can easily see they had nothing to do with it. But then the poltergeist tugs on his hair, and he knows no one was close enough for that.

Sephiroth whirls and unleashes a fireball in the direction of the offending spirit... but it fails to affect its intended target. Hopefully you didn't get singed instead.]


((As always, I'm available at [plurk.com profile] yinza if you want to plot anything!)
extrasensory_problems: (dark)

Carter Ghazikhanian| Marvel 616 (adult au) | OTA

[personal profile] extrasensory_problems 2022-01-04 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Ⅲ. THE RIPPER:
CW: murder, gore

One of the many annoying things about telepaths is their ability to be vague and cryptic when something bad is about to happen and Carter is no exception.
The streets are already dark and dense with fog and he wants nothing more than to get back to the Temple where it's warm and well light but something makes him stop suddenly, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the damp weather around him. His eyes become unfocused and he tilts his head to one side, much like a dog listening for its master's voice.

"Something's wrong."

A second later there's a scream, shrill and full of panic and Carter takes off running towards it, easily tracking the source due to the powerful feeling of fear in the air. When he rounds the corner he instantly sees the body on the ground and he dashes over to it, dropping to his knees and immediately going into nurse mode. He pulls out a handkerchief and presses it to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding and when he looks up it's only then that he sees the shadowy figure that is making an escape.

"Fuck! HEY! STOP!"

Ⅳ. RESURRECTION MEN:
CW: death, gore, gross body horror

I'm doing this to help fellow medical students...I'm doing this to help fellow medical students...

This is what is going through Carter's mind as he digs down into the earth with his shovel, his face set and determined.
Maybe if he keeps repeating it he'll eventually believe it.

I'm doing this to help fellow medical students...I'm...

His thoughts stop when he finally hits the casket, the top of his shovel making a hollow thunk noise that chills his blood, and he suddenly has second thoughts about this whole thing. But he's started it so he might as well finish it and carefully he takes off the top of the casket and stares.

".......fuck." Carter says in a weak voice because the corpse inside is of one Alex Summers, aka Havoc, superhero and X-man.
The man who he had thought was going to be his father.

"Hey.....little....buddy." It croaks and Carter screams.
gravity_grrl: (neck)

Roxy Spaulding| Gen13 | OTA

[personal profile] gravity_grrl 2022-01-05 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
Ⅲ. THE RIPPER:
CW: murder, gore, violence against women.

There are some things that have just been ingrained into Roxy through years of training and being in the superhero business, so when she hears a scream echo in the night she doesn't think she just reacts. It takes two seconds for her to notice the body and then the figure fleeing the scene and knowing that the poor woman is beyond help she sets her sights on bringing the asshole who killed her down.

However she didn't really take into consideration the trouble she would have running in the era-appropriate garb she put on at the Temple earlier that day and she mentally curses whoever decided that huge skirts and layers was the "in" thing during this era.

"Fuck this." She says and uses her powers to float herself up off the ground and yet the killer still manages to slip around a corner faster than her. She curses and lands, looking around to see which way he could have gone when suddenly someone is grabbing her by her hair and slamming her back against a brick wall. Roxy cries out in pain, her head suddenly filled with stars and when she opens her eyes she sees a shadowy figure looming over her.

One hand locks on her throat while the other one slowly rises into view and she struggles to scream, because in that other hand is a large, wickedly sharp knife.

"Such pretty eyes..." Her attacker whispers to her, bringing the knife up towards her wide violet eyes. "Surely you won't mind...if I keep them as a souvenir?"

Uh...help?

V. WILDCARD:

[Feel free to throw anything else Roxy's way, prose or brackets, whatever is cool with you man.]
speed_of_snark: (wine)

Jean-Paul Beaubier/Northstar | Marvel !616 | OTA

[personal profile] speed_of_snark 2022-01-05 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
I: GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Jean-Paul looks good.

He puts on his new Victorian duds, navigating the layers effortlessly, and looks the very picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Cleaner, really, than most of the people on the streets, which just serves to make him look all the better.

"Oscar Wilde would LOVE to suck my--" he says as he admires his own reflection in a shop window. He is cut off by the clatter of a taxi carriage going by and he moves quickly to avoid being splashed with mud. What he hopes is mud. What really isn't just mud.

He looks up and down the street. "What we need," he says, presumably talking to you and not just himself, "is absinthe. Non?"


II: SEANCE

Jean-Paul sits grumpily at the table, visibly rolling his eyes. It's not the sort of thing he'd enjoy under any circumstances, and the fact that the stuffy little room smells of incense and Victorian B.O. is not improving his temperament any.

When Mary Price looks at him, however, something changes.

"What haunts you?"

A: TURN OF THE SCREW
[CW: suggestive language]

Jean-Paul scoffs. "Nothing," he says, irritated. "I don't have any stupid what ifs, and I don't DO regrets."

The medium's mouth falls open and a cheerful voice, distinctly male, issues forth:

"You sure about that, JP? You don't ever think, hey, maaaaayyyybe if I'd pushed a little I coulda touched his dick?"

Jean-Paul freezes and then does something so rare that most people wouldn't believe it possible: he blushes. Not much, but it's unmistakable.

LOST HEARTS
[CW: talk of murder]

Or, when the medium's mouth falls open instead the voice that issues forth is older, softer.

"That's not true, Jean-Paul Martin. There are things you think of nearly every day, and I wish with all my heart you would not."

Jean-Paul jerks as if an unseen blow has been delivered, and his eyes widen. "Non," he murmurs. "It cannot be. I. I don't think of you that often, not anymore."

He looks around the séance table, eyes stricken. "This must be a hoax," he all but pleads.
neverwither: (what in the what)

Chloe | Detroit: Become Human

[personal profile] neverwither 2022-01-05 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ART DECADE
Impractical as it is, Chloe's quite fond of the mass of pink and white that forms an outfit. The grime of the city leaves something to be desired, but there are sights to explore. If one looks past those certain elements of the era, all it's rather charming.

Something that catches her attention is a toy shop. Displayed in the window are toys with moving parts; cogs and cams to create simple movement. They're a far cry from the android peering at them now yet she feels the draw of history, her own history, in them. True, more sophisticated forms of automata existed before the time period the island apes but she hasn't seen those in person. As a being with no family tree to speak of, it's something to be near to that from which she could be said to stem from.

A swift trip back to the Temple and she returns to the same spot armed with her sketchbook. Slightly concerned she might get a telling-off for loitering, she goes ahead with her plan of drawing the toys anyway. Brightly coloured figures that bob up and down at the turn of a handle and chickens that peck at the ground are recreated on the page exactly as they present in reality. She doesn't need to be stood there at all using the window display as a reference, really. She just prefers to.



II. BANG BANG (MY BABY SHOT ME DOWN)
CW: emotional abuse, trauma, gun use
Chloe has never given much thought to ghosts, spiritualism or anything of the sort. By all accounts, it shouldn't exist. But that isn't to say it doesn't, and especially here. She's intrigued enough to venture into the seance. Maybe it's just cold-reading and parlour tricks. Maybe there's something to it. One who never experiences will never know.

Nothing immediately screams trickery. Hmm. Sat around the table, she's drawn into the closure and catharsis others seem to gain from supposed contact with their loved ones. Perhaps tricks or truth don't really matter, if they're getting what they need. It almost makes Chloe feel at ease.

Only those eyes are alarming when they turn to her, as is the question. Without an answer to give, she looks around at the others gathered like they could prompt her. They don't provide anything, but a velvety male voice coming from the medium does.

"What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it the Kamski test. It's very simple, you'll see."

Chloe's eyes widen. What in the...? That isn't...

"This really isn't the place for such talk," she says curtly, finishing a thought out loud. "You'll upset these poor people." As if they have any idea of what follows.

Her protest goes unheeded as the voice she knows so well continues.

"Magnificent, isn't it? One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife. Young and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither... But what is it really? A piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being with a soul... It's up to you to answer that fascinating question..."

Looking down at her lap, Chloe grips her knees. "No." Her voice is low. "Don't do that. Please." Is she she talking to the medium or the voice itself? Your guess is as good as hers.



III. RED RIGHT HAND
CW: murder, gore, violence
Dark alleys in the night are not somewhere Chloe should be wandering. It's part of the reason she is. So much time doing everything she was told she should and should not and now she has the freedom to do. Her acts of rebellion are small, but they're something. And it's just a little stroll.

She's about to head back to the Temple when the scream pierces the air. Chloe hesitates for a second, then proceeds quickly but cautiously in the direction of the sound. Has someone had an accident? A mugging? Domestic dispute? Possibilities run through her mind.

The sight that greets her was not one of them.

At first she thinks the crumpled body means the poor figure has fallen. Or perhaps that's what she wants to think. The closer she gets and the clearer the scene becomes through the fog, Chloe is brought to a stupefied stop.

Blood. It's all blood. Wet noises and choking noises. And a person running away from and not to it.

A few seconds more and she closes the remaining gap between her and the woman, sinking down to the ground beside her. Cold android logic determines that this woman is about to die. Quickly. There's nothing to be done for such a catastrophic injury.

Scooping the woman into her arms, Chloe holds her for the final seconds. She can't help, can't do anything, no one should have to leave the world alone.

Logic kicks in once again. Practicality. The perpetrator ran, meaning they're still out there. "Police..." she calls weakly. Finding her voice, the cries that follow ring out. "Police! We need help!"


WILDCARD

[ Want to choose your own adventure? Catch me at [plurk.com profile] another_thoughts_hat or via PM and we can do a thing! ]
dothelokimotion: (Alligators: can they kill your children?)

loki odinson | mcu

[personal profile] dothelokimotion 2022-01-06 09:47 am (UTC)(link)
( i. the temple )


[ still very midgardian and somewhat constricting, loki still likes these clothes much better than the last few islands he's visited. more . . . akin to his style, even if it's missing his leathers and armour. he adjusts his bow tie before taking a twirl, a twinkle in his eye. ]

Well? How do I look?


( ii. seance )

[ it had been a whim.

summoning the dead was the darkest of magic, the kind even loki shied upon. after all, he wasn't a witch or a two-bit magician, needing to prove his magic over what should be left quiet. he didn't care for it.

but he found himself drawn by the question all the same. what haunts you? a bitter laugh erupts in his throat. everything does. the loss of asgard, his parents, his own life. everything was gone and he's haunted by it. but a voice calls out, warm and motherly. ]


"Am I not your mother?"

[ loki swallows tightly. ]

You're not. And I'd kindly ask you to stop saying that.


( iv. resurrection men )

[ for some reason, his memories are a blur until his hands grip the shovel as he starts digging. in, out. loki seems to wander, unseeing, unfocused until a voice seemingly calls out from the grave. a cold, cruel voice belonging to a mad titan. loki flinches, dropping the shovel momentarily. ]

How —

[ thanos grins, even as he seems to rot in front of loki's very eyes. he grips loki's ankle, keeping him in place. ]

Poor little prince. Are you feeling sorry for yourself? As you commit atrocity after atrocity, blaming anyone but yourself?

[ loki hisses back, his hands gleaming with magic. ]

Let go, you insufferable —

[ but thanos cuts in. ]

Never forget, god of outcasts. God of Evil. I didn't make you to be a family-killer. And never forget your brother cursed your name as you perished. Hating you as you died. As you well deserve.

[ loki's breath hitches, and for a moment, he is frozen stiff. ]


( iv. wildcard )

[ got a prompt in mind? pm this journal or hit me up @ [plurk.com profile] timmtams ]
howlett: (howlett-grim)

Logan / Wolverine | Marvel 616 | ota

[personal profile] howlett 2022-01-10 02:30 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL

Most would say it's a far cry less comfortable here than the mall. It certainly doesn't smell better. But places like this, Logan knows how to navigate. He knows what use he is here. And that's enough to stave off the looming sense of uselessness he's felt shrouded in since taking some divine advice to try avoiding violence.

The clothes feel familiar too. He fits as well into suspenders and a flat cap as he does the Docklands. There the work there keeps him busy and leaves enough money in his pocket to eat and drink and smoke what he likes when he likes.

Find him all month working the docks, frequenting the pubs and indulging in a little sportful pugilism.


II. SEANCE

That curious little card turned up in his pocket and Logan knew he'd be following the address on the back just as soon as he realized he didn't know who slipped it there without him noticing. There aren't a lot of people sneaky enough for that.

The creaky old house reminds him of his family home and that's reason enough to be suspicious about this beyond the promise of hocus pocus.

He's busy counting the familiar faces here. It seems a noteworthy thing that so many other travellers have been led here along with him when their hostess speaks to him.

“What haunts you?” She asks.

Logan glances around before he offers her a chilly shrug.

"Plenty."

"The spirit will name them for you."

"Lady, that could take all week."

When she speaks again her voice isn't her own. Instead her accent lilts Irish "You were so frail and scared when we came here. I could hardly have imagined what you'd become."

For a voice so soft it seems to hit Logan sharply. He narrows his eyes at their host. "Lady. Don't open my head and I won't open yours."


Ⅲ. RIPPER A. CW: stabbing

You stab one guy in self defence and suddenly maybe you're the Ripper.

It wasn't so many nights ago that he popped his claws when a couple of brutes tried to rough him up for a days pay. Maybe he wouldn't have been so hasty if he hadn't had so much to drink. But they'd seen the claws in his hands before the scurried off and now Logan finds himself looking at a crudely drawn likeness of himself nailed to a doorway next to the headline RIPPER?

"Fuck... how many of these are floatin' around?"


Ⅲ. RIPPER B. CW: death, murder, slashing.

He can't recall how many bodies there were by now. How many victims had turned up eviscerated the same way as that first lady. Enough to make it impossible to ignore the sound of a scream in the streets of Whitechapel.

Still somehow he's not fast enough. No one's ever fast enough to catch more than a shadow leaving the scene. He only resists the urge to follow when a weak grip clings to his sleeve.

He packs the wound but there's no first aid he knows to really fix this. He could catch the man. He's sure of it with the scent still fresh. But he's not cold enough to pull away from a dying woman's hand.

Even if the blood she tracks on his clothes leaves a guilty picture of him there in the quiet of that alley.

Edited 2022-01-10 18:34 (UTC)
quire: (Default)

Quentin Quire | Marvel 616 | ota

[personal profile] quire 2022-01-10 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL

There's a pervasive stink about this place and Quentin tries not to think about it. He knows it's some disgusting combination of industrial era air quality, livestock and inadequate sewerage but when he thinks about that too long it becomes increasingly difficult to touch anything.

"A historic tour of the cholera epidemic. Great."

The rickety little bed he's been set up on creaks and cracks with every shift. This won't do. Not if they're here for the unforeseeable future. But hey. Capitalism is popping off around here. Surely, he can hustle himself into something better than this Dickensian hotel.

This month, find him selling snake oil, complaining about how bad old-timey candy is and generally irritable about the lax standard of hygiene around here.


IV. RESURRECTION MEN
CW: grave robbing, corpses

Not only could he earn a buck moving a body, but unlike other body snatchers he can do it without getting his hands dirty.

The first one was maybe a little crude. A little ostentatious. That giant pink claw machine that could be seen at highgate cemetery drew a small crowd of onlookers quickly, but since then he's been stealthy about it.

And even if you don't know what he does for a living, the sharp, albeit eclectic, way he's dressing lately doesn't hide the fact that he's got some amount of money for a young man his age.

Edited 2022-01-10 18:35 (UTC)
song_of_fire: ([Daenerys] What's That Ahead)

Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones | OTA (newbie)

[personal profile] song_of_fire 2022-01-11 10:22 pm (UTC)(link)
I. Arrival

[Everything is a bit of haze from the ferry ride, the explanation of matters and the shock of such a starkly different city than the ones she knew. Daenerys had followed the few others that she saw enter the temple and gathered her bearings (as much as she could.) It wasn't until she emerged from her room in the clothes provided her that everything was sinking in.

Stolen from one ship to another, expected to atone for...something? It was a bit much to wrap her head around.

Not even understanding what this place was normally for, she took a seat in one of the pews and pressed her fingers to her eyes. There were the rush of questions, but none of them significant to voice aloud. The 'how', 'why', 'where' of it all.

Instead, it seemed better to just reinforce herself rather than stagnate.]


Finish this quickly, return home.

II. Seance

[She'd been trying to find a different lodging house, one that would have comfier beds and a bit more privacy. So many had been coming and going from this place, she simply assumed it was another place that took renters.

It...was certainly not that.

The moment she set foot in, she was ushered to a table with others and bore witness to a number of magic tricks. Not nearly as impressive as others she had seen in Qarth, but amusing, apparently. The speaking to the dead was perplexing, as many others thought it was possible. She was willing to overlook it and keep her thoughts to herself, if only to not spoil the experience.

But then the question was asked: "What haunts you?"

How else does a queen answer?]


Nothing. [She glanced around the room with mild amusement.] I have no family.

[The planchet started to wiggle and Daenerys wanted to reach out and stop it, but it was quick to swing to a "V"]

What is this?

III. Wildcard

[I'll probably add another prompt later below, but this seems like a good place to begin. If you have any ideas or just want to say "hi", feel free to add me. [plurk.com profile] la_fille_en_histoire
northerndragon: (Default)

Jon Snow ✥ Game of Thrones ✥ OTA ✥ will match formats

[personal profile] northerndragon 2022-01-16 09:54 am (UTC)(link)

Temple (cw passing mention of rabbit death)


Jon is not sure whether or not this is a relief.

After the carnival and the mall, both places that were loud and crowded and not what he would wish, it's disheartening to find himself in a noisy, cramped city. The air is foul and the people are too many.

But the windows here remind him of the little sept that had been at Winterfell for Lady Stark, and the beds are simple and better than hard ground. In all, it's not familiar, but it's closer to what he knows than the last two places had been.

He had tried to keep Ghost out of the way in the mall, but now, he's well underfoot: a great white wolf, red-eyed, on or under the benches out in the main chamber, or on a bed in the sleeping quarters, or in the kitchen, eating something it would probably be best not to look at too closely if you are fond of rabbits. (Did you see Jon come in with a live one earlier?)

If you've never met, he might say, "Everywhere we go, some people seem to know what sort of place we're in. None of these places other than that first castle has been anything like what I know. Do you know what this is? It's not like Carcosa."

Or he might say, "Don't mind Ghost. He won't trouble you."

On the other hand, if you have met, he will acknowledge you, perhaps even with a slight smile. Then he is like to say the same things.

Seance


Jon has been quiet, subdued, since coming into the parlor. The single candle casts shadows on his face, and as the seance goes on, he looks more and more troubled. Occasionally, he glances at the black curtain. The dart of his dark eyes is subtle and easy to miss.

When Miss Price asks him what haunts him, he sinks down in his chair a little, crossing his arms and lowering his chin.

"That's my own business."

The truth is that he is not in the mood for a witch's tricks.

The truth is that he wouldn't know where to begin.

[OOC Note: In this prompt, you can have: Ygritte, Ned Stark, Rickon Stark. If you don't specify, I'll choose (and if I'm in the mood, I may choose Jon himself). If you hit it off, he is likely to talk about Melisandre afterwards.]

Ripper (appropriate content warnings apply here)


A strangled shriek rips through the air, and someone darts past you, hiding their face, bumping into your shoulder and cursing before dodging away. Jon runs up to you then, all frantic. He may barrel into you just as you're finding your balance again. He may even seize you by the shoulders or the lapels: this is urgent.

"Can you help the girl? Can you stanch the bleeding? Did you see which way he went?"

Rotten Row


Jon cannot let Ghost roam the city, but Ghost is still a direwolf. Ghost still requires grass and air and meat. He is well enough in the temple, it's true, but sometimes he paces, or scratches at the floor. He does not like the leather lead Jon purchased for him in the mall, he does not like to walk to it, but when they're in the street, it seems prudent to show that he's not a fully wild animal.

He takes Ghost to small fields within the city limits, when he can find them -- something complicated by all the horses in the streets and the way they shy away from wolves. They are right to do it, he thinks, but it doesn't make this any easier. He does not fear the darkness, but even so, enough thieves and killers are about at night that it seems better to go in the day. So he goes in the morning, when the air is clearer and less foul, and he can see about as far as he thinks it's possible to see in this place.

At first, he tries the grassy squares that he finds with great manses facing them on every side. It is doubtless a part of the city held by the highborn. But the greens seem to be occupied almost solely by nurses and their young charges, and he finds that he doesn't wish to make women and children shriek in fear.

Eventually he comes across a great parkland, not so far from what looks like a palace. It's not hard to tell that it's the sort of place where people walk about to be seen walking about, but at least there's space and air in it, and not so many children at this time of day. Some other people even have large dogs on leads -- sometimes the familiar sort of hound he knows from the North, and sometimes sleeker hounds, the sort southrons take on a hunt.

He can be found on the path, walking an enormous white wolf on a black leather lead, citizens of this city all around him. Or he can be found a little off the path, in an open space, tossing a stick for the wolf who is no longer on a lead.

[OOC: This prompt is really for Daenerys, but there's no reason to close it to her! Rotten Row is the "see and be seen" part of Hyde Park in the 19th century; an equivalent location is about the only place other than Hampstead Heath that I could think of to reasonably give a direwolf some exercise. There is probably also someone off in a corner yelling about socialism.]

Wildcard


[Set something up and I'll hop in. Maybe try to convince him to go grave-robbing?]
Edited 2022-01-16 10:11 (UTC)
threeterparker: (167)

Peter Parker | The Amazing Spider-Man/MCU | OTA

[personal profile] threeterparker 2022-01-25 07:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[ ooc: will match prose or brackets. let me know if you would like to avoid No Way Home spoilers! HMU @ [plurk.com profile] millennialfalcon if you want to plot something else. ]

I. Temple Time

[ For Peter's first island after coming off of the tropical Jurassic Park starter, he's a little glad to be back in a city again, even if it is a more antiquated city than the one he's used to. He's never been to London, and there's a part of him that can't help but stand at the window of the temple, looking out on the foggy streets, thinking about Gwen. He'd tried so hard to stop her from going to England. And now here he is, without her. Sure, it's not exactly England, and not the same time period as the Oxford Gwen would have gone to, but he can't help but think she would have loved seeing the antiquated cobblestone streets and the high-peaked roofs of the temple.

Peter finds himself climbing up to the roof, to look out over the city. It's dark, it's quiet. So he rationalizes that even though he doesn't have his suit or mask, no one will probably disturb him up here, and he can just sit in peace looking out at the dim points of light through the fog. ]


II. Some Séance

[ Peter stands outside the parlor, looking at the card in his hand Miss Mary Price: Spiritualist. He isn't sure what a spiritualist is, but before he can change his mind, he's being ushered inside the dark, velvet-curtained room. The whole thing feels more like a show than any sort of actual spiritual event, and Peter is able to zone out for the most part, not really paying attention to the knocking or Ouija board movements until Miss Price turns to him and asks, "What haunts you?" ]

Oh, no, I'm not actually here for a—

[ He doesn't get a chance to finish that thought before a gruff older man's voice pipes in. ] You never did find him, did you?

[ Peter goes white, instantly recognizing the voice of his uncle. The voice that scolded him every time he stepped out of line growing up, that gave him heartfelt advice when he needed it, that encouraged him to be the best man he could be, to take responsibility for his actions. ]

You never found the guy that killed me. You searched for him, night after night. How many guys did you beat up just because they looked like him?

Stop. [ Peter's voice trembles. ] Stop this.

[ He doesn't wait for the séance to end. Deciding he really can't take this anymore, he turns and shoves his way out of the room, escaping back out onto the cold, dark street. ]