![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- ! event log,
- a discovery of witches: kit marlowe,
- dc: harley quinn,
- detroit: become human: chloe,
- detroit: become human: connor,
- dragon age: anders,
- final fantasy: sephiroth,
- locked tomb: harrowhark nonagesimus,
- marvel: carter ghazikhanian,
- marvel: jennifer walters,
- marvel: loki odinson,
- marvel: wade wilson,
- my hero academia: takami keigo,
- oc: elenore evans,
- oc: saxsice king,
- penny dreadful: victor frankenstein,
- south park: kyle broflovski,
- uncharted: elena fisher,
- uncharted: nathan drake,
- uncharted: rafe adler,
- uncharted: samuel drake
Destination: Carcosa
✖ Carcosa
Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.
The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?
If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.
The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.
There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.
Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.
The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.
Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.
All of the attendees are wearing masks.
You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.
Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.
Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.
No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.
Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.
Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.
The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.
The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.
There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?
Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?
Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.
Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.
You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.
There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.
Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.
You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.
It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.
Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.
The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?
If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.
The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea. There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.
Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.
The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.
Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.
All of the attendees are wearing masks.You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.
Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.
Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.
No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.
Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.
Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.
The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.
The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.
There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?
Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?
Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.
Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.
You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.
There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.
You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.
It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.
Chugging that Maskerade
Deadpool, definitely not Baron Zemo, and kind of sort of Ryan Reynolds, dances his way past Jen when he hears her speak in his general direction. Hearing that familiar voice makes this feel even more like he woke up in the orgy again. Nobody's having sex here though, not that he's seen. If they are, then they're venturing into Eyes Wide Shut territory.
"Huh. I guess I do." He fiddles with it. "BUT THAT'S NOT A SECRET." As he shouts the last, his head jerks up as if to ward off anyone who might try to claim he was waiting for him to slip up. He won't be losing this face, oh no.
no subject
"Of course it's not a secret." She reaches out and pokes the obvious icon on his chest. "Might as well be your new symbol. Well, that and you wearing a suit. It's not a bad look."
no subject
It's worth pausing right here in the narration to note an interesting perception of what secrets are. Deadpool seems to be conflating "secret" with "truth". Ruminate on what that means for a moment. To this man, the truth must be secret. How fucked up is that?
"You know, I've always secretly loved suits." A pause. "WAIT NO, NOT A SECRET. I was quite open about loving my suits." He fidgets with the mask. It's still firmly attached. Good, good. Even if that was a secret, it apparently wasn't juicy enough to cost him his new face.
He pauses in his own self absorption to notice that Jen isn't quite as disgusted with him as she usually is. Normally, this would be his dream come true. He's always had the biggest crush on Jen, even if it's only been referenced once in the very very beginning of Gerry Duggan's run. Why did that never come to fruition as a plot point? He'd never know. But...she seemed not herself. And the crush was definitely not something he'd go near referencing because something told him it was just the kind of secret the mask wanted to come off and leave him with exactly the face someone like Jen would never, ever want.
A secret worth sharing to break the mask's power that he didn't want to break. Ironic.
"You okay, Jolly G? You seem like you've been sipping the kool-aid around here. Did you try to smash a Guardian too? Whatever they hit you with for trying that is good stuff. It made me dance like Zemo." It didn't make him dance like Zemo. He did that all on his own.
no subject
His freak out over the secret helps her out in putting the peices together. She almost mentions him liking the mask out loud, but something bruised in her says leave it alone. There's no harm in letting him be pretty for a while. She understands wanting that. After all, she had wanted to be a green goddess for years.
"I haven't smashed anything here yet," she answers candidly, still buzzed and willing to lean into feeling good. "I don't really want to. The kool aid is kind of nice."
no subject
For several moments, Deadpool pauses and looks at her. There's something poetic going on here wherein she is seeing what he is after and letting him have it, and in turn he's coming to see what's going on with her and deciding to let her have it. If anyone deserved and needed some calm goodness in her world, it was Jen.
"Well then, time to get smashed, amirite???" He grabs a whole platter of passing drinks and tops her off. "I wonder what's in these? Because baby, it's cold outside."
no subject
And he clearly wants to keep the mask. Which doesn't bother her at all.
The struggle to drink around her mask, however, is increasingly getting on her nerves. Having a drink in hand does not help. "Smells like gin. Do you even feel it?" She's not being intentionally rude, just curious.
no subject
"Okay but...this might actually be so much better than my iPhone. Hey Siri, open Facebook." The pocket watch doesn't do that. "I think I'm in love..."
When she mentions gin, he looks up with a dazzling smile. "If it's Aviation gin, this party really does have style." Hey, he had to get into the Reynolds character a little, didn't he? "Wait, do you mean the face or the booze?"
Deadpool tosses back a whole glass of gin. "Because the answer to both is only briefly, while I'm thinking about it. But if the curse is good enough, I won't feel the mask at all if I can keep my secrets long enough."
no subject
The commercial sensibility buzzes against a mostly dormant sense, and she shrugs in answer to his question. He comes to an answer before she can respond, and it seems like the better option really.
"Well, then you better keep lying. I'd hate to be the reason you lost the opportunity."
no subject
Deadpool is looking around at all the people milling about. The masks hide a lot, but not nearly enough, and he sees so many people he recognizes from his wildest crossover dreams. Was that Harley Quinn?!? And Maleficent?!? His expression looked like that of a kid in a candy store.
"Hey Jen, what if I don't ever want to go back to where we're from?"
no subject
This is mostly true, though she doesn't look at the crowd and have quite the glee he finds in the opportunity to meet so many new people. He has stumbled into the secret she's held since realizing the Temple was the first thing that felt like home since she woke up.
"I know. I don't want to go back, either." There's a soft whispery sound as the mask comes loose and the ribbons slow it enough that Jennifer can catch it before it falls to break further.
no subject
And surviving was one of those things. They were both survivors, in their own ways. Just like they were both something shy of sanity in their own ways. His were just uglier than hers. He was allowed to fall into his dark places more than she was. With Jen, there were expectations.
"So that was your secret, huh." Another nod. "It's not mine. You're expected to want to go back, because you have to play the hero. Me..."
Wade stops himself, then smiles a wild little smile. "Ah ah aaahhh...I'm not telling any secrets." He places a hand on her knee. "But that was a good secret. You can stay. You should stay. They don't appreciate you there like they should. They just all want you to be more like your cousin so they have a comfortable place to slot you in on an Avengers team, where you can backslide into mediocrity. You're better than that."
no subject
"Do you think it's one specific secret?" She looks at the mask in her hands and her own fractured reflection. "Or do you think it's any secret that actually matters?"
Looking up to make eye contact with the man behind the masks, (she assumes he's wearing both masks in separate layers somehow,) Jennifer thinks Deadpool gets stuck in the Cassandra role more than he should. Yes, it's hard to believe what he says when he tells her that everyone will want her to become like the cousin they killed, but he doesn't seem to be lying.
"I'll keep that mind."
no subject
He looks at her mask in her hands. "I think it's probably any secret should graduate into a truth though. That would make sense. We're supposed to be playing with how we color code ourselves, after all." He taps his Scrywatch. The color is still trying really hard to make a firm call on him.
no subject
She settles the mask down on a table for a moment before picking it back up. It's mostly useless, but she doesn't have much of her own here.
no subject
"I know exactly who I am." A lie. He had no idea which version of himself he was, but that wasn't something he wanted to say out loud lest he lose his own mask. He never knew which version of himself was the real one. There were so many stories, some horrible, some great, some in between. In some, he had daughters. In some, he had a wife. In at least one he slept with a space hippo and that was a whole thing.
But Jen knew the lie and he knew she knew and that was the point.
He looked at the Scrywatch. "I don't think I have the power to influence it. I tried to kill a little guardian earlier just to see if I could and it just zapped me here. Before I could even finish the title of that prompt option. I think they have their own fourth wall powers. I just think it might be...confused. There's so many versions of my truth, and I access them all, all the time."
Wade looks up. "But I do listen to you. Whenever you speak. I listen."
no subject
So, she regrets, a little, the flash of discomfort that comes with him looking away and even more the lie. A generous interpretation of their surroundings could be that maybe they were here to sort out the important truths and lies.
"This doesn't seem like a place where the answers come with killing." A pause as she looks at a few of the people in masks. "Humiliation, maybe, but not killing. Also, maybe don't try to murder the people who have a connection to the woman behind the curtain yet."
She reaches out to give his shoulder a brief squeeze. Taking a little comfort even as she gives it. "I appreciate that. It seems like it might be important here."
no subject
Although that wasn't always the truth these days. It didn't even quite fit to call him an anti-hero any more, since people kept working to frame him as a full on hero. But did he believe himself to be a hero? Fuck no. He tried. Oh, how he'd tried. So, so many times. That was part of why he really hadn't killed as many in recent years as he had in the beginning. But he still killed. It was just a thing with him. A casual thing, even. Shit, if nothing was real, consequences didn't matter.
Look, we all know he's grown past this stage. Multiple times, even. But a little backsliding is good for fitting into this here game. Right?
"Eh, I had a feeling I couldn't really kill them. I've known a woman like her, I think. Maybe. My fourth walling can't see this woman, so I can't say for sure. But if she's anything like the woman I knew in another life...yeah. There's no fucking with her. Not even a little. And I don't mean that in a 'oh she'll getcha' way, although the woman I knew would. I just mean it in a 'that's just an impossibility' way.
All I know is she's just one of those impossibilities I fall in love with all the time because..."
He pauses. That might be venturing into secret territory. Better take it somewhere safe, quick.
"...Because they always have the best curves, and I do love me some curves."
no subject
The rest, though? Deadpool might be talking to one of the few people on the Island equipped to believe him when he speculates wildly about the force behind it all. Yes, he has definite issues with understanding the limits of their reality, but that doesn't mean he's wrong. The emotional depth and the seeking is real. He even had to make sure to cover up the end to keep the mask, which is more telling than any direct claim of knowledge ever could be.
"So, we're stuck on a rotating set of islands dealing with the whims of some greater power who can't die but can be objectified." Jennifer laughs, a soft, honest sound tinged with relief. "That should be so much more upsetting than it is right now."
no subject
Deadpool gestures at Jen too, with a little up and down motion that captures her whole body. "And you!! I objectify you all the time! Which probably isn't smart to say since you seem to be next door to being upset but not quite there yet, but you know. You're hot. White, green, grey, supermodel, massive hulk, it doesn't matter what form you're in, you're a hottie and I can objectify you!"
He pauses. "But I know you've been working away from that, so I'm not gonna. It wouldn't be fair to fuck up your own little quest to change the colors of your watch if figuring out who you are outside of the sexiest hulk is a part of it."
Something occurs to him. "Hey, does your watch change colors when you go from Jen to Hulky Jen? That might be some kinda interesting clue to something."
no subject
Oh the look she gives him, mask or no, through his description of objectification of her says a whole lot. One might assume, based on her expression, that she is pointing out that dealing with objectification is roughly the same thing as dealing with nitrogen at this point. It's just part of the background atmosphere. The fact he catches himself? That is what keeps her from turning those things into actual words that are spoken out loud.
"Sexiest is subjective," her tone is mild. Given their surroundings, points for effort still count. Especially when he comes up with a really good question. "I...have no idea. I never thought to check? I know it kind of grows with me? But I never checked the colors.
no subject
It isn't that he misses the look, but more that he overlooks it. Her look isn't the reason he catches himself. In that regard, he really is showing his incredibly sporadic considerate side, generally reserved for the people genuinely respects for some reason or another. Of course, everything he said was perfectly honest from his innate objectification of her to his desire not to objectify her because he knew for a fact she was very sensitive to that these days.
"I guess you're right. Maybe. But I mean, look at the others. Bruce and Amadeus have bulges where they shouldn't. Gross. And the red ones are not exactly with us any more. And the others are objectively not as sexy as you for reasons I could list if I wanted to but I don't because now I'm distracted by needing to know if your hulky self has different colors. You should change, like right now. See what happens!!! You know you wanna."
no subject
She sighs, and the mask hides the fact that she's actually smiling as she looks back up to meet his gaze only to regret it slightly as Deadpool walks through a comparison of the different options of sexiness. Then she winces at the suggestion that she changes.
"I don't think it would be safe. Not with this many people around-" Her mask loosens and she barely manages to catch it in time. The fact that she doesn't trust herself is not the secret she would have chosen for this particular reveal, but here she is, laid bare.
no subject
He glances at her mask loosening and falling. "Huh. I really am your muse of character growth tonight, Jen. You're just full of secrets."
Wade glances around, casually checking to see if anybody nearby would have heard. It doesn't seem so, but in a party made to steal secrets he's sure somebody is listening. Maybe the masks themselves. He has had more than one love interest that would have done it exactly like that. (Although to be fair, at least one of those love interests might have made the masks to eat people's faces too, so.)
"You want to stay here, but you're afraid that you're dangerous, even to these people." His lips twist a little. "I get it."
no subject
"Apparently," she offers him a small, tired smile that doesn't quite make it to her dark eyes.
When she looks around the room, it's the first time she's been able to consider the fact that they are surrounded by actual people. People who are under the influence of strange powers and working through their own battles. "They don't deserve to have to pay for my lack of control. Whatever else is going on."
She reaches out briefly to rest her hand briefly on his shoulder. "I hope you keep your secrets. At least until midnight."
no subject
He glances around. "Besides, if you go gray I'll just be my kind of charming and befriend your Hulk. Or get you to chase me and pound just me in to the ground. I guarantee nobody here likes it as much as I do. You remember that time I stole your panties on Livejournal? Good times."
(Um. No. She doesn't. That was...a few versions of Jen ago. You're really struggling with this 'which universe are you claiming to be from for this game' thing, aren't you?)
"Hmph. ALL of them."
(Never mind that she'll think you mean you stole all of her panties. But you're gonna have to claim a Scrytwatch color soon on your check-in. Which we technically already did. But timey wimey thread stuff.)
"Whatever. I'll just make something up like it's a high school test her writer grades all the time."
(You asshole. She comes here to ESCAPE that for some downtime.)
"So I'll make it a darker color! I'm an asshole!" Her hand on his shoulder distracts him from going down this particular dark hole. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I will. I'm good at it. It's gonna make for a terrible June 1st in a bar somewhere, but for a month, I'll get to be pretty."
(no subject)
(no subject)