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sticksandbones2024-07-15 07:24 pm
ghostharasser) wrote in sticksandbones2024-07-15 07:24 pm
Entry tags:
Dreamscape Player Plot
MAY YOU FIND YOUR WORTH IN THE WAKING WORLD
INCEPTUS NOLANUS OVERRATUS
It happens without warning. You're enjoying yet another day, trapped under the ocean in a metal can, waiting to either escape or die, when a scream rings out. Strange, because it almost sounded like it was in your head. What happens next is a deathly silence, a ringing in the ears, and then suddenly reality shifts. Color drains from the world around you, time slowly crawls to a halt, and the cosmos holds it's breath.
A moment ticks by.
Reality exhales and the world bursts forth, warping your environment until it becomes something different, something new. Somewhere you definitely weren't before. Your greatest fantasy or your worst nightmare has come to life, and something has become increasingly apparent: You are not alone. Traverse your fears, your dreams, your secrets with whoever else wound up in this hell with you. Maybe together you can figure a way out, or a way to make it stop.
A moment ticks by.
Reality exhales and the world bursts forth, warping your environment until it becomes something different, something new. Somewhere you definitely weren't before. Your greatest fantasy or your worst nightmare has come to life, and something has become increasingly apparent: You are not alone. Traverse your fears, your dreams, your secrets with whoever else wound up in this hell with you. Maybe together you can figure a way out, or a way to make it stop.
WE'LL MEET AGAIN SOME SUNNY DAY
While moving between dream to dream, a few things start to become apparent: Most, if not all, of the Sea Base has been affected. Every so often, certain edges of the dream will shift to look like a haunted looking old Victorian city. Despite that, before dreams get to be too bad, a lamp will appear with it's small attendants beckoning you over. Touching the lamp will send you either to a new dream, or to ...a house.
The house is empty, though it appears to be well lived in. There are personal affects littered all over, so if one is nosy enough, it will be easy to find things like pictures. Either way, it's a safe space for people to collect themselves in. There's sodas in the fridge, just don't mind the kitchen possums running around.
The house is empty, though it appears to be well lived in. There are personal affects littered all over, so if one is nosy enough, it will be easy to find things like pictures. Either way, it's a safe space for people to collect themselves in. There's sodas in the fridge, just don't mind the kitchen possums running around.
SPARK NOTES
OOC
Hello! Welcome to your Dreamscape plot! Have fun and be as self-indulgent or as terrible as you like, just be sure to tag your CW's appropriately! If you have any questions or concerns you are welcome to DM at [maplecoffe] or hit up my plurk ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
takatorabatta.
a top level for the Moon Presence showdown will be in a top level below.
UPDATES
❖ None yet!
SUBMISSIONS
no subject
but anyway, Loop gives him another little clap of encouragement.]
That's the spirit! Go on, then, back to the stage! Don't forget your lines this time! Break a leg!!
[The door swings open on cue, and if for some reason he changes his mind, well, he's going to get up and walk out anyway. No time to waste!
The hall outside looks nothing like a theatre, black stone walls lined with frozen-still torchlight. But at the end of the long hallway is the ever-familiar stage, no boulders in sight. The audience hollers and cheers and whispers past the wall of white hair—it only opens once Wolfwood takes his position, centre stage.
The crowd starts to settle. They'll even clap
ifwhen he bows! (He does bow. The Universe wills it. It's just good manners.)Anyway, a show is nothing without a proper script, right? A single page flutters down from the rafters above, settling perfectly into Wolfwood's hands. Unfortunately, this is not the script. Instead, all he gets is a black-and-white flyer for a bakery. It reads: "Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you almost as much as you LOAF our bread!!!"
...
Hey, isn't this kind of familiar?
Loop is once again standing off the edge of the stage. They'll give him an encouraging thumbs up if he looks at them. You got this!!!]
Sorry Im late on this Zahliyaquest had me distracted-
He grabs the paper a little too tightly as it lands in his hands, crumpling it slightly at the edges as he reads the text and- once again- has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. This is some sort of cosmic retribution for acting out, he's pretty sure.
He glances to Loop, makes a face, and then looks back at the paper so he can read in the most theatrically deadpan voice he can muster.]
Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you as much as you LOAF our bread.
no subject
...
No, that's not quite it. They're waiting. Very patiently, but less patient the longer he takes to figure it out. The paper he holds isn't the script, after all—it's just a flyer! A prop!
Loop is also getting less patient. They stage-whisper at him, holding onto the weird hair curtain.]
Tell a joke! About bread! [obviously!!
how good is ww at improv comedy folks we're about to find out]
no subject
Ugh. God. Fuck. What does he say-
He swallows thickly, looking back up at the audience that's been sortof just staring and waiting for a funnier response this whole time.]
I don't fuckin' know. I'm pretty...crumby at tellin' jokes.
no subject
Is it a terrible joke? Absolutely. But the audience's taste? Also terrible. So Wolfwood gets the most over-the-top applause he will probably ever experience in his life. Some of the voices are laughing so hard they're in tears. Some are outright sobbing. The pressure in the room seems to ease off, just a little.
... but this act isn't over yet!! Of course, he should know what to expect.
The crowd begins to settle, and the second page flutters down from the darkness above... whether he hangs on to the first page, or drops it, or whatever, that's up to Wolfwood. The inkwell still comes hurtling down a second later. The pen, too. Remember to catch! Or don't! Try not to get hit, at least!
The poem is the same as before, waiting for its own finale.]
Oranges are nice.
Oranges are soft.
Oranges are frail.
When you look at me I feel like one.
Your fingernail digs into my cheek.
Peel an orange open...
no subject
At least this time he's more prepared for the inkwell and pen to come hurtling from the ceiling, as he catches the page in one hand (the bread one gets dropped, bye bitch) and the inkwell in his other, just barely managing to snag the pen between a pair of free fingers still gripping the paper.
Okay. He hates this. But he has to write something here, right? Maybe if he just...hm...
It takes him a moment to get the inkwell open since he's standing and has his hands full, but somehow he manages to get the pen dipped into it without getting too much ink everywhere. Writing is a different story since he has nothing to press down on, but write he will do.
And what does he write?]
The flesh is sweet underneath.