Test Drive Meme #1

[bocadelmods]

A Choice to Make
 

In the midst of your mundane existence, amidst a meal's consumption or perhaps amidst a desperate struggle for survival, you find yourself teetering on the precipice between consciousness and oblivion. Whether it's the mundanity of everyday life or the shock of an unforeseen revelation, the next chapter in your tale is etched in the unfathomable tapestry of destiny. Abruptly, a shimmering azure tear in reality wrenches you from your reality, hurling you into the depths of a foreboding cavern. Within its shadows, two sinister whispers assail your senses, each vying for control over the path you must tread. One beckons from the left, promising dominion and power under the aegis of an enigmatic ruler, while the other lures from the right, pledging a noble crusade for justice and salvation. With each step, the choice you make echoes with the weight of eternity, determining the very fabric of your existence

As you stand at the crossroads of fate, the air thickens with anticipation, suffused with a palpable sense of ominous uncertainty. The leftward passage glimmers with an otherworldly allure, hinting at the seductive allure of authority and supremacy. Yet, the rightward path beckons with an ethereal glow, resonating with the righteous fervor of a hero's quest to vanquish darkness. Each voice, a siren's call to divergent destinies, casts its spell upon your soul, weaving a labyrinth of moral ambiguity. For in this twilight realm where the veil between worlds grows thin, your decision is not merely a choice but a covenant with forces beyond mortal comprehension. Whichever path you elect to traverse, know that the consequences shall echo through eternity, shaping the very essence of your being in ways unfathomable to mortal minds.
 

1. Evil

 

Emerging from the left tunnel, you step into a labyrinthine city carved from the very bones of the earth, illuminated by flickering torchlight that casts eerie shadows upon the twisted visages of its denizens. Monsters, grotesque and malformed, roam the streets with a purpose that sends shivers down your spine. It becomes chillingly apparent that within this infernal metropolis, your destiny lies entwined with a bid for power at the side of a shadowy sovereign. Amidst the clamor of preparation, the temple to the enigmatic entity known as the First Evil looms ominously, its dark allure drawing in supplicants like moths to a flame. Should your throat grow parched from the fervent chants of devotion, the Cantina offers solace in its crude embrace, a sanctuary that exudes an aura of ancient malevolence amidst its clay and stone walls.

 

Yet, amidst the sinister ambiance, whispers of knowledge beckon, promising insight into the machinations of this unholy realm. Seekers of truth may find guidance from well-intentioned demons or delve into the esoteric depths of the Stacks, where secrets lie entombed within dusty tomes of forgotten lore. As curiosity compels you to explore further, the Bringers, sinister heralds of the impending darkness, stand ready to lead you to your abode, a cold stone sanctuary where dreams are haunted by the specter of impending conflict. And for those who prefer the solace of steel and the embrace of weaponry, the armory awaits, a chamber resonant with the echoes of impending strife, offering a grim reminder that in this realm, even sleep is fraught with the specter of violence.

          2. Good

Venturing through the right-hand tunnel was a pact, a commitment to a harrowing struggle that now unfolds before you. Emerging into the realm beyond, you are met by a spectral figure, a girl whose countenance shifts with each passing moment, a testament to the legion of vampire slayers that populate this accursed domain. She, like her brethren, is both warrior and guide, leading you through the labyrinthine streets with a cryptic explanation that betrays the gravity of the task ahead. Together, you traverse the shadowed avenues, passing landmarks cloaked in enigma, such as The Odeon, a den of debauchery where the echoes of revelry mingle with the cries of the damned. With a sardonic grin, she points towards the gym, a crucible where the art of combat is honed amidst the backdrop of impending doom.

 

As you journey further into the heart of darkness, the Resurrection Cemetery looms ominously, a sepulchral sentinel guarding the threshold of a towering edifice—the colossal teaching hospital that casts a pall of dread over the surrounding streets. Amidst a labyrinth of silence and apprehension, you arrive at your destination, standing before the facade of the Doubletree Hotel, its ostentatious glamour a stark juxtaposition against the encroaching shadows of desolation. Yet, even as the hotel's opulence beckons, a lingering sense of foreboding whispers tales of recent upheaval, hinting at secrets buried beneath layers of opulent facade.


A Grave to Dig – Resurrection Cemetery

Patrol, it's the nightly routine for slayers, a dance with darkness amidst the tombstones, where the soulless minions of evil lurk in the shadows, ever loyal to the malevolent machinations of The First Evil. A cemetery of this magnitude, its layout intricate and labyrinthine, serves as the perfect battleground for the eternal struggle against the forces of darkness. But it is patrol, right? Surely you're not taking a detour to The Odeon without your trusty stake and crossbow. Strange choices in these perilous times, indeed.
 

This graveyard pulses with the heartbeat of vampiric activity tonight, more undead rising from their graves than ever before. Will you recruit them into the fold of darkness, their loyalty pledged to The First? Or will you stand as their nemesis, driving a stake through their unbeating hearts? The choice looms before you, a decision that could tip the scales of this eternal conflict, determining whether you become their savior or their midnight snack.


A Party to Crash – The Odeon

Amidst the haunting melodies of an otherworldly band, The Odeon pulsates with the feverish energy of revelers seeking solace in food, drink, and a hell of a time. At the jumpstart of the bash, there’s no doubt you'll get to soak up some of that vibe. But lurking amidst the revelry, there's more than just party plans brewing.

If you've been getting those Slayer senses tinglin' 'bout the graveyard gig, hold onto your stakes 'cause The Odeon's gonna be jumpin' too. Within the shadowed halls of The Odeon, a palpable tension lingers, as The First Evil's malevolent design looms ominously over the unsuspecting patrons. In this twilight realm where the line between good and evil blurs, the clash between opposing forces is inevitable, and it's here, amidst the haunting melodies and whispered secrets, that the true test of one's training and arcane talents shall unfold.

 

Comments

Diana Abel | Vampire: The Masquerade

[diana_abel]

Arrival - Good
[CW: Vampire-related injury, blood, questioning of one's mental state]
And the Malkavian bat, blinder than all the rest, swooped down and managed to miss the entire elephant.  Aha!  said the benighted Malkavian, as it flapped past.  The others are making a huge fuss over an elephant that is really a big lot of nothing!  Well that is what I shall become.

She didn't know why that was the first thought to cross her mind, as she followed the mystery girl.  Especially given the fact that she was pretty sure she was dead.  Dead-dead, anyway.  Still, the old parable actually made her smile a little bit as she sat up on the floor of the unfamiliar room, scabs itching.  The Elephant and the Blind Vampire Bats was a story Diana used to tell the children on the compound.  An easy way to remember the different kinds of Cainites.  The Malkavian verse had always struck her as something of a joke.  The sort that Artemis would play on other Cainites, when she was pretending to be loopier than she was.  Like Hamlet or Odysseus or Snooki.

Well.  The mind coped the way the mind coped.  

She followed silently, her arms and legs sticking to the fabric of her ratty, white dress a little where they were still bloody from all the bite marks pockmarking her alabaster skin.  Every inch of her was covered, except for her face and--ironically enough--her neck. 

...Hell looked a lot like downtown Cleveland at night.  Made sense.  She always hated the Midwest. Brow furrowed, Diana continued down the sidewalk, unconsciously leaving bloody footprints behind her.  The longer she walked, the more she wondered when she would see the fires. Whatever else it was, Hell definitely wasn't living up to her expectations.  Or down to them?

And where the hell did she think she was going?

Wait...was that a hotel?

The Odeon
[CW: Showtunes]
It didn't take any of her supernatural powers to get Diana on the stage.  Just a smile, and a certain need apparent in her lavender eyes, that told the stage manager that music would soothe her soul.  She didn't have her own guitar, so she had to borrow one, but that didn't matter so much.  Diana could make music out of anything.  And the guitar was in good shape, perfectly tuned.  When she started to sing, her voice was like a crystal drop, falling into a pond, sending ripples out into eternity:

And for the boy who's given me the sweetest love I've known
I wish for him another love so he won't be alone
But I am bound to walk among the wounded and the slain
And when the storm comes crashing on the plane
I will dance before the lightning, to music sacred and profane...

She'd actually written the song for Artemis and her somewhat tragic love life.  But really, all three York sisters were pretty unlucky in love, so it could have been about Arty, Selene, or Diana herself.

Tonight, though, it was more about exercising her metaphorical demons than anything else.  She'd been through A Lot.  And she was alive.  And she was whole.  And yes, she was stuck in the God-forsaken Midwest, apparently.  The true tragedy being this was the best off she'd been in a long time.  She just had to find the music again.
Find a way to be herself again.

And if it wasn't music, it was going to be shameless flirting, but she wasn't sure she was ready for that just yet.

Wildcard
[Come at me, friends.  Open to pretty much anything.  Will match prose or action.  And Diana's info is in her journal, if you want it!]

Arrival

[burnyoudown]

Kavinsky might have been too bone tired and weary to notice the bloody footprints on the sidewalk outside of the hotel, but he absolutely noticed how bloody--and potentially wounded?--the woman a few yards away was. He wasn't really bothered by blood--once you'd been in or witnessed fights where someone's nose got busted and gushed everywhere, blood stopped being shocking--but he still felt a rising bubble of concern. And maybe a bit of morbid curiosity.

He took a few steps closer, cautious about it, and said, "Hey, are you okay? You look sort of like..." He paused a moment, struggling not to make some sort of joke that she probably definitely wouldn't appreciate. "Like you need a lot of bandages and some rest." But, strangely, despite all of the blood, she didn't seem like she was about to keel over. Thank fuck, honestly; what would he do if that happened?

The Odeon

[ironrider]

[hope this is ok! you know, werewolves and vampires....:) If this doesn't work let me know.]

Galliards are known among the Garou tribes as moon dancers. They sing songs to rouse their kind to battle, to carry on when they think they can't and to mourn those who fall. That spirit draws him toward music and dance. Fills him with passion and hope, not only for his kind but for humanity. While his party going and bar hoping might come off to some as a problem, he finds himself in places like this because it makes him feel alive. Reminds him of why they do what they do, reminds him of why humanity is worth saving.

Sitting among the crowd he watches the performance with rapt attention. It wasn't just her voice that had him staring. Every note she sang tugged on that part of him that could sense the Wyrm. Though it wasn't a strong pull. Nothing triggering his rage. Only his curiosity. Then again, Glass Walkers are often accused of being corrupted by the other tribes, too close to the Weaver, to human for their own good.

He slid off of his seat and made his way closer to the stage. As he got closer he glanced at her again with a smile and a nod of his head.

Maddie Nears | School Spirits | Good

[readreceipts]

A. Haunted Hotel

A blonde girl, roughly seventeen, is lounging on one of the sofas in the lobby of the Hotel. Her hair seems to be in a perpetual state of static charge going a little bit in every direction. Using her flannel shirt as a makeshift extra pillow. Really it's more a layer of familiarity than anything else.

It was weird, being in a new city. Hell, it was weird being off the grounds of her high school. Last time she wasn't at school she was still alive after all. Humans - and probably the not quite humans given her existence - involved in this good and evil thing could see her, which helped out a bit since she hasn't seen any other ghosts yet. One of the Slayers helped her get moved into her room, a ghost with her own room was a little hilarious. But she stuck it out in the lobby mostly out of boredom.

She'd have to get used to haunting new places, but give her time.

B. It's My Party, I'll Die if I Want To

When she was alive, she didn't go clubbing. She had neither the opportunity in Split River nor the desire. She didn't drink, a fun side-effect of her mother. And she'd much rather curl up in a dark theater watching a classic horror film than she would a loud room of sweaty people throwing their bodies around to bad music.

But this was apparently the place people went here, and she needed friends. Especially living friends if there weren't other ghosts for her to mingle with. Guess ‘I'll only go clubbing over my dead body’ was mostly accurate. She sat in an empty stool near the bar waiting, annoyed, for someone to order something she'd like.

Finally a group of- she guessed track and field guys from a local school, ordered a round of sodas and when the glasses came down on the bar she quickly snatched up a root beer.

Neither bartender nor college athlete noticed her, or the missing drink. Because it was still there. The same drink in her hand was in the hand of the toned guy who probably could jump very well. She finally retreated from the bar over to a corner looking to see if anyone else saw her.

It was as good an ice breaker as any, “Hey, you can see me right?”

C. Wildcard

[So Maddie here doesn't have a body, and as far as ghosts go she doesn't have a lot of special powers. She can't even get into (or out of) locked rooms. She can make ghostly copies of stuff she picks up and most NPCs won't see her, so have fun looking a bit deraged to the locals if you talk to her.

She'll haunt any place she feels she'll find other people to talk to, but don't expect her to be very socially graceful. She's a bit of a mess. Tell me if you care about spoilers for the end of S1 of School Spirits because she is from the end of the season and it's a murder mystery. So she knows things she's got thoughts on. Even if she might not share them outright.]

Haunted Hotel, totally cool with spoilers!

[wereperrito]

Jack can see her. He can smell her, too, in that odd off way that ghosts have a scent. As he reluctantly comes inside to look around and maybe get a room, he pauses to give her a little wave.

"Hello," he adds to the wave. He'd always rather be friendly than not, and putting off dealing with the hotel is an attractive choice. Besides, he's interacted with ghosts before. They always seem like they could use a little more attention than they got.

B! 100% canon blind and a-okay with spoilers!

[burnyoudown]

He could see her, alright. He hadn't really been paying attention at first, not until he'd realized she'd swiped a drink--except that wasn't entirely accurate--and no one had noticed. It was more like she'd cloned the drink, or something. Kavinsky'd seen enough weird things, especially something where nothing had been before, that he didn't really bat an eye. But his curiosity was still piqued. It'd been sort of like in the dream field, watching Ronan wake with dreamt objects in his hands, which had previously been empty.

So, obviously, he'd taken his own drink and meandered over nearby, not close enough to be uncomfortable, but close enough that he didn't have to raise his voice to be heard when he replied. He had to squash the immediate urge to be sarcastic or make a joke, something about how jocks made a lot of people feel invisible, and honestly his restraint should have been rewarded, considering how infrequently he exercised it.

"Yeah, I can see you just fine. I take it that's not the norm?" He figured either something (else) was going on or the guys at the bar were somehow totally oblivious to cute girls. One of those was a lot harder to believe than the other. "I like your trick, by the way," he added, gesturing to the soda in her hand.

Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | OTA

[burnyoudown]

[ooc: I'll match format- prose, brackets, whichever! <3]

i. A Choice to Make - Good - cw: vague mention of drugs

Kavinsky was angry. It snarled up inside of him, hot and choking--but he was hurting, too. The feelings went hand-in-hand, had been a near constant in his life for hours, days, weeks. With great reluctance, he pulled his white-framed sunglasses off, folding them and hooking them on the front of his shirt. He should have been dead, he knew that, and yet he didn't feel dead. He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming either, though. Compared to everything else he'd dreamt over the span of his life, this wasn't even remotely close to the weirdest thing. Even the voices weren't too far-fetched, no matter how irritating and alluring he found them, in equal turns.

He didn't need power--he already had that--but he didn't feel particularly inclined to pursue justice, either. But between the two, he thought it was easy enough to figure out which one was the lesser of the two evils, as it were. So, he squinted against the ethereal glow and walked towards it.

He was a split second away from asking aloud if the whispers ever planned on shutting the fuck up when he emerged from the tunnel into whatever was on the other side, and saw the girl. He stared at her for a long moment, studying the way her face kept changing. It was too much like the kind of shit he'd dream while fucked up that he couldn't flinch from it, no matter how disconcerting it was. Instead, he followed her. Maybe he was dead after all, and this was some sort of afterlife. Maybe she was an angel or something.

Craning his neck a bit when they passed The Odeon, Kavinsky considered the exterior of the building and the noise from within--and made a mental note to check it out later, when he didn't feel like he was on a tour. It seemed like it might be his kind of place.

When the girl pointed to the gym, he arched an eyebrow, looking at it and then her before barking a laugh. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," he said.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed through the rest of his current adventure, stopping in front of the hotel. He'd seen worse places, that was for sure--this would be good enough, he guessed, assuming he was supposed to stay here. He couldn't be homesick if he'd never had somewhere that felt like home, after all. The only problem was-

"I absolutely do not want to fucking be alone with myself." It was more of a mutter, directed at himself, but he also didn't care--or even know--if there was anyone else close enough to hear. He didn't want to lock himself in a hotel room right now, or lie down to sleep when he hardly knew what sort of nightmares he might wake with.

ii. Drinking Away Our Sorrows - cw: underage drinking

The Odeon wasn't quite what Kavinsky had hoped it would be, not as wild, but it was also better than any of the dumps that were in Henrietta, so it was still a plus. Besides, it'd been easy to dream a fake ID--IDs weren't a challenge; he'd forged them a hundred times--and he was well on his way to getting drunk. It probably wasn't too much better of a choice compared to being alone with his dreams, in his head, but he could at least delay the inevitable. Maybe if he delayed sleep long enough, got far enough out of his head, he'd be able to keep the nightmares at bay.

Knocking back another shot, he eyed the basket of fries next to him, where he sat at the bar, and considered them. He wasn't exactly hungry, and he knew that without eating anything, he was playing a dangerous game when it came to drinking, but it didn't deter him. After he'd gotten the bartender's attention for another drink, he picked up a single fry and took a bite. Despite the fact it was lukewarm, it was better than he'd expected--or maybe he was actually hungrier than he'd realized--and he finished it in another bite.

He shifted slightly when someone approached, either to sit nearby or just order a drink, watching them out of the corner of his eye before turning to look at them properly. "Hey, completely random question, for curiosity's sake, but--do you think there's a street racing scene in this city? Bonus points if you actually know, and even more points if that answer's yes," he said.

He figured, if he was going to be here for however long, he might as well start scoping shit out, see if there was anything to look forward to or if he was going to have to scrape together a race scene all on his own.

iii. A Little Game - The Odeon - cw: underage drunkenness

While not as spectacularly drunk as he had been at various times in the past, Kavinsky was probably definitely drunk enough that he should've climbed into an Uber or something and gone back to the hotel--but he felt more relaxed right now than he had all day. Physically, relaxed, at least, though his thoughts were still scattered, obsessing over things that had happened hours or days earlier in the back of his mind. He was doing his best to ignore those thoughts, to distract himself- which was why he invited himself to sit at a stranger's table, no matter who they were.

"Hey," he said amiably, dark eyes bright, even with the dark circles under them, standing out against his pale skin. "So, considering that this place is fucking boring compared to the parties I throw back home, what do you say we spice shit up with a little truth or dare?"

iii.

[ironrider]

Ashley had made himself quite comfortable. Shoes kicked off he lounged with his feet on the laminate tabletop. Several empty drink glasses circled a half eaten onion blossom. He plucked another petal and popped it in his mouth as Kavinsky took a seat.

"Truth or dare, huh?"

The other option was going back to the hotel. To a dark, empty room alone. He is a little tipsy, starting to lean toward drunk, but not enough that the heavy sense of loss pressing on his chest is gone. Being alone with that feeling, with everything going on in his head, was a bad idea. At the hotel he had gotten as far as staring at the door to his room. Instead of turning the handle he turned around and found his way to The Odeon. Crowds. Noise. Drinking. A place he could try to get out of his head. Or at least not face what he was feeling.

He chased the taste of deep fried onion with a gulp of something amber swirling in his glass.

"I'm game."

Jack Russell | Werewolf By Night | Good

[wereperrito]

I. Hotel

"That does not seem like a pleasant place to stay," Jack comments, mostly to himself, as he stares up at the hotel uncertainly. Yes, okay, it looks nice he supposes, but it smells funny, and he's not a fan of hotels in general. He's stayed in a lot of them, and they're all so... same-y.

But this is apparently what he's got for now. Which is discouraging. Surely Ted will find him before too long, at least.


II. Graveyard

So there's a pact now. He's apparently gotten himself signed up to protect a place. Well, that's... new, he supposes. He doesn't know how he got into this mess, exactly, but this is what he's stuck with until Ted finds him. If prowling a graveyard after dark is part of the job, he guesses he'd better do it.

He has no stake. He has no weapons at all. Jack is not a fighter-- not in this form, anyway. And as it's nowhere near the full moon yet, this form is all he's got. So he's kind of hoping whatever is out there will listen to reason if it tries to attack him. Or that he's fast enough to dodge and bolt if it isn't.

He does have a very sensitive nose, though, and he's following that in search of-- whatever is here, really. He could really use some protection if anyone is feeling generous, as he has no idea what he's getting into here.


III. Odeon

One of the places his nose leads him to eventually is the nightclub. Jack is not really a fan of nightclubs. He rather prefers the cemetery with its clean grass and dry stone. But he ducks instead to investigate, anyway, edging around the dance floor and squinting through the dark, looking for a familiar face, or maybe signs of trouble.

It's crowded enough that it's unfortunately easy to bump into people. "Oh-- I am sorry," he says quickly, holding up both hands apologetically. "It's very crowded in here, no?"

Hotel

[hopethatremains]

A girl, small and generally harmless looking was near enough to hear. She didn't mean to eavesdrop but here they were. She tilted her head at the comment, "What is unsatisfactory about the accommodations?"

There wasn't any snark or attitude, the question was clean and clear and simply curious. Likely due to the fact she did not know what made a hotel a 'good place' to stay. She'd read hundreds of hotel reviews, but as she'd never stayed in one she lacked accurate data as to what that's like.

Of course, probably more concerning about her is she doesn't smell in any way human. Her scent lacked anything like human odors and was just the slight scent of ozone you might get from electricity. She didn't look particularly human either. Between the hearts that floated near her head (making the shape of pigtails) and the rings in her eyes.

tara maclay | buffy the vampire slayer

[exponentias]

i. doubletree hotel

If asked, Tara's not sure she could begin to describe what happened.

She had returned to the earth; her spirit had returned to the flow of magic in flora and fauna and fire. A witch of the earth, her very being had become one with magic. She had been everywhere, and nowhere. She had been a flock of birds in the sky, and the trembling hooves of a newborn deer, and the tender sapling of a oak tree. There had been a contentedness, a sense of completeness, in whatever remnants of her soul had clung to the energy she had dispersed into.

And then all of a sudden, she can see. Tara has legs again, and she's standing on cold stone, and her eyes are tearing up as she's squinting and struggling to adjust. She has hands that she lifts to her face, shaking, trying to block out the feeble light in the cavern she finds herself in. Her chest heaves as she has to breathe again, struggling to remember how.

The next few minutes pass in a daze. Without thinking, she chooses the path of good, and she winds up in front of a hotel, foreboding and desolate. The carpet of the lobby is more forgiving against her bare feet, but everything feels overwhelming. Bright. Hard. Her body feels clumsy, and alien.

Dimly, she realizes she's in a simple white dress, and she knows that she must have been buried in it.

When someone approaches, Tara can barely hear what they're saying. Everything sounds grating and hostile to her eardrums. "Where--" she starts, the word little more than air, and tries again, "where... is this?"

ii. the odeon

All Tara can do is wander, lost.

The sound of distant music pulls her in. Fond memories tug at the back of her mind, and that's when Tara starts to remember. She was a person, once. She had a life. And she doesn't remember most of it right now, but bits and pieces are flocking back to her like wounded birds, limping into her awareness.

She remembers another club like this. Small. Usually packed. Live music. She remembers the lights shining off red hair, and restrained slayer strength in fingers that curl around a glass, and a crooked smile under dark hair, and--

Goddess. It's so overwhelming.

Tara can't bring herself to go inside. Inside promises too much sensation. Loud music. Bodies everywhere. Smoke. The thought of it is... more than she can bare right now.

Instead, Tara huddles outside, arms tucked tight around her chest, hair in her face, cold against the chill of the night but this glimpse of humanity is something she finds herself wanting to cling to even as it pains her. The back door slams open, and Tara cringes away from the light and noise that spills out. "S-sorry," she stutters out, taking a step back so she's not in their way, unaware that there's fire crackling between her fingers.

iii. wildcard

[ 🫡 what is up my dudes. tara is taken from after her death, with the assumption that she didn't go to an afterlife like heaven, but rather became one with the flow of magic in an earth witch version of what happens after death. she's going to be discombobulated for a long while, not super talkative, and trying to get her bearings. i'm open for wildcard prompts! ]

The Odeon

[readreceipts]

Maddie made an effort, but there's too much going on in a place like that for a ghost girl to really draw attention to herself. Not- you know, when anyone not involved in this whole good and evil thing can't see her. So after the forth drunk person stumbled through her she called it quits.

Maybe haunting the gym tomorrow will net better results.

She hit the Cleveland street, bundled up in a man's coat she snatched on the way to the door. It was available and being a ghost didn't immune her from cold. On top of the many, many, serious problems with her 'life' (as it were), the fact that she could get cold was insulting. She almost started back to the hotel when she noticed the woman. She looked... well, honestly bad. Like- there was freaked out and then there was- that. It wasn't her problem, she should go home. She didn't have to butt in.

...but maybe she could help. Maddie scrunched her eyes closed a moment, then walked over to the woman. "Hey, you alright?" The concern in Maddie's voice was genuine, and her attention mostly on the shellshocked stranger. Save Maddie's hasty sidestep of a trio of drunk guys who clearly did not see her. Let's not focus on that right now, if at all possible.

i!

[burnyoudown]

Kavinsky wasn't what most people who'd ever met him--or heard of him--would consider kind, but really, that just spoke to how fucking little they actually knew about him. He was more than barbs and a sharp grin, paired with an even sharper tongue--it just took the right moments, the right people, to make him visibly give a shit.

The first thing he noticed, actually, was the fact the young woman was barefoot. Then, he took in everything else, and fuck if he didn't resonate with the expression on her face more deeply than he was ever likely to admit. There was no reason for him to be an asshole right now so, quite simply, he wasn't.

"Good fucking question." There was no anger in his voice, just a sliver of frustration that had nothing to do with her. "Asked the same thing myself. Ohio, apparently? Never been though, so I've just gotta take people's word about that."

He paused a moment, frowning more in concern than anything else, and added, in a notably gentler tone, "Are you okay? There's-" he gestured behind him at the couches and chairs in the lobby "-plenty of places if you need to sit and take a breath."

The Odeon (cw: tobacco/smoking, feel free to tell me if you'd rather I rework it)

[definitionofcrazy]

Faith's never been miss sensitive, but even she feels something wrong in that club. Maybe it's the Slayer spidey-sense, maybe the vibes are just that bad. Or maybe it's just paranoia.

Either way, she's not inside long before she opts to duck out back for a smoke. She's not even paying attention, really, to who's around her as she slaps a cigarette out of the package and pops it between her lips-

And then the girl next to her apologizes.

She pauses for a sec to evaluate. Not a threat. Just a granola chick, definitely not somebody she'd expect to see at a club like this. She shrugs as she pulls out her lighter.

"No big. We're five-by-five."

And then, as she lights the cigarette, she realizes a couple things. One, she swears she's seen this chick before. She can't remember when, but the face is real familiar. Hopefully that's not a big deal.

Two, that spark of fire in the other girl's hand isn't another lit cigarette. It looks like magic. She takes a drag on the cigarette, plucks it from her lips, and nods toward the other girl's hand, trying to keep the wariness from her voice- granola here looks freaked enough already.

"... you might wanna watch that, though."

doubletree

[ineverygeneration]

"Tara...?" Buffy's voice emerged as a choked whisper, laden with emotions dredged up from the depths of memory. The sudden appearance of someone she believed to be resting peacefully in the afterlife struck her like a stake to the heart. She knew all too well the jarring sensation of being yanked from a serene existence into the chaos of the mortal realm, all in the name of battling forces beyond comprehension. Though tears threatened to overflow, none dared to stain her cheeks; Buffy had mastered the art of shedding invisible tears long ago.

"It's... I've missed you," she confessed, her voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and relief. With a determined swallow, she composed herself, unwilling to burden Tara with her own emotional turmoil. "You're in Cleveland, Ohio. It's 2024. We're in the midst of another apocalypse, and that boom you just heard? Yeah, that was my brain imploding," she added, a wry smirk flickering across her lips, a shield against the overwhelming gravity of the situation.

"How are you... Are you okay?" Buffy's concern manifested in the slight furrow of her brow, a silent echo of the anguish she had felt when Tara had been cruelly torn from their lives, leaving behind a void that time could never quite fill. It seemed like only yesterday that they had mourned her untimely departure, and now, here she stood like a spectral visitor from the past, stirring dormant emotions and igniting a flicker of hope in the darkness.

the odeon

[speechy]

"Me too. Bit overrated in there." Automatic, thoughtless, and out of his mouth before any of his senses connect. What else would a stranger be apologizing about? "You've got the way of it. I'd stay out here if I were you."

It doesn't cross his mind immediately that her scent is familiar to him because it's one he never thought he'd be in the presence of again. He also hasn't paid her much mind, so there's that. He's talking to her, but Spike has a way of continuing without the participation of anyone around him when he so wishes, probably from years of hanging around people sharing absolutely nothing but mutual dislike.

But, then, he looks and . . .

He's at a surprising loss for words. Not much left in the world capable of shocking him and stranger things have happened, haven't they? Why not her? Why not here? Spike swallows, the beginning of recognition creeping up on him. Bridging the gaps between life and death is never without its struggles, no matter the circumstances. Hard to say exactly, if that's the case here. Tara was never the most spirited of the group, but he likes to think he knows the difference between socially anxious and shellshocked.

"You look cold," he finally deduces.

Spike doesn't think she'll snub the offer, though she has every right to. He steps away from the door, away from the light, and pulls off his coat.

"Here. Take it." He holds it out to drape on her shoulders, if she'll allow it. Otherwise, it might hang haphazardly for a few seconds until he takes the hint. They might not have been close, but they always had some sort of understanding of each other.

Sophia 1.37 | Persona 5 Strikers | Good

[hopethatremains]

A. Protocol: Shopping

Someone kindly lent her some human clothing when she arrived. It was very nice, even if the floral print sundress was a very odd thing. It didn't move right compared to her standard costume. But it allowed her to move around town with little staring from the locals.

A Phantom Thief needs to blend in.

She was also provided with some funding and after a lengthy search online she had a list of attire that was normal for humans to wear. The web search felt like it took forever, being on this side of her phone was very tedious.

And she felt, based on what she understood, that this process was meant to be done with a small team and not on her own. But she was alone. She would have to make do.

She was studying various garments, she had done her research before to know how they were worn but fashion was not something she was accurately programmed for, so she did not know if these clothes were good. “Do you think this is me?”

She found some clothes in her size, but the colors were all wildly different and several would not look good with her bright red hair. And the patterns might not work with the floating red hearts that gave a silhouette of ‘pigtails’ floating behind her. She was either a very short teenager, or a very toned child, and her eyes were clearly not human.

…Although the floating hearts probably also were not a very human element.

B. Protocol: Training

Sophie had put on her combat attire again, while at the gym. A strange looking mix of bike shorts, thigh length socks, and a white parka. Any attempt to look human were gone because not only did her hearts float in the pattern of a ‘ponytail’ behind her hood. But her mask was on, turning her face into an inky black void with bright blue emoticon eyes. Not emojis, classic 90s large zeroes for eyes.

Sophie was doing a sequence of coordinated flips, tumbles, leaps and handsprings to make certain her combat abilities carried over into this new human reality she found herself. She really wanted to share her feelings. Yes, feelings, about this with her friends. And that caused more feelings because she couldn't. It was very exciting, but also sad.

Still, she could prioritize those feelings later once she was no longer doing a handstand on top of the support beam for a heavy bag.

C. Protocol: Questioning

Being corporeal was something she was still getting used to, it had two key disadvantages. Operation of electronics took more time from the outside. She did not have ready access to all the information she would like to have.

And without the other Phantom Thieves, her options for answers was limited. Still, there was a hotel full of people from other worlds, so it seemed obvious enough how to resolve this, “Hello. Do you know anything about cognitive psience or quantum reality theory?”

She's asking these questions like they were very normal things to ask someone before their name. Then again, her pigtail floating hearts, and the strange rings in her eyes, were pretty clear signs ‘normal’ did not apply to her.

D. Protocol: Wildcard

[This is Sophia, she's from a point in Persona 5 Strikers where she had a physical body so she's not inside a phone as that would complicate her in game. She is, in no way, attempting to pass as human and please make her try.

She'll be bad at it but she means well. She'll mostly be staying in places reasonable for a teenager to be found but she will go out on patrols, hit her up with any place it would be reasonable for an AI in a physical body to show up. She's got a ‘can do’ attitude and a lot of desire to help.

Oh, she has a physical body but it won't read as human on any level, it will read as having a soul if you can sense those so have fun with that.]

mack stuart | oc

[theconsequences]

the good choice...
1. Resurrection Cemetary

Something is slinking around the gravestones, and it isn't a demon.

The damp grass gives way enough to betray the presence of something with paws, and small rocks and bits of half-rotted leaves tracked across the ground in telling trials. It's not uncommon for creatures of all persuasions to wander around the graveyard at night: stray cats, squirrels, the occasional spaced-out labradoodle. And, of course, coyotes. Granted, not many like this one.

Mack is skulking around with a bit too much confidence. In coyote form, she can smell better, hear better, and, perhaps most usefully, see better. Until tonight, she had spent plenty of time honing her human-form fighting skills, but nightfall had brought along with it a stoke of genuis. Why fight vampires as a human when she could use her significantly more agile and far-better-sighted coyote talents to take down all these pesky vampires, etc?

The snap of twigs alerts Mack to someone else in the graveyard and she quickly crouches behind a gravestone where she had stashed her bag with her back-up clothes and her wooden stakes. She tried to pace her breathing, willing her heart rate to stay near some semblance of normal. This was going to be her moment. She would wait for the vampire to pass by as she lay in wait, and then she would jump over the gravestone and--

Oh. She glances at one of the wooden stakes peeking out of her bag, and then down at her thumb-less paws. Right. That's why coyotes aren't vampire slayers.

the bad choice...
2. The Cantina

Dominion and power sure sounded great, but it really needed air conditioning. And maybe a new interior designer.

Truth be told, Mack is already bored. It turns out that being evil involved a lot more reading and a lot less, well, sitting on thrones and eating grapes or whatever she thought power actually would give her. She's started spending way too much time at the Cantina, settling for whatever shitty liquor or warm beer they have in stock given blood isn't exactly her vibe. And she doesn't plan for it to be anytime soon; she's definitely not interested in becoming a vampire, not when she's finally reached the age where her skin is clearing up.

She pulls herself up into one of the bar seats with some amount of embarrassing difficulty. "Tequila, please please please," she whines. "It's already 1pm and if I've gotta be sober any longer I'm gonna start taking hostages." Whether that is much of a threat coming from a 5 foot 2 pink-haired nightmare is anyone's guess.

the dealer's choice...
3. Wildcard

[Mack is 25 years old, foul-mouthed, and has a little bit of a drinking problem. For anyone familiar, she is coming from the game Altered States, which was a spiritual spin-off of Beyond the Rift. She spent 3 years in New York City and can shape-shift into a coyote and a roadrunner. It's a joke because she grew up in New Mexico.

She'll have generalized memories of her previous in-game life but I won't be bringing any assumed CR. Feel free to throw whatever you would like at her!]

Cemetery

[wereperrito]

Jack has no control over his shapeshifting, sadly. It's the full moon or bust for him, maybe at the behest of a powerful artifact or life-or-death situation.

But it also means he is absolutely not afraid of coyotes. He kind of likes them. They're often cleverer than wolves, and have a pleasant kind of yipping call. So in his wandering, spotting one amongst the gravestones, he pauses and tilts his head curiously.

"All alone, friend?" he asks amiably of what he assumes is a wild animal. It's in Spanish, because he doesn't expect her to understand him.

Buffy Summers | Buffyverse

[ineverygeneration]

Fire Bad, Doubletree Pretty

In the dimly lit lobby of an unfamiliar hotel, Buffy Summers found herself grappling with a perplexing predicament. A Slayer accustomed to battling the forces of darkness, she now faced the enigma of time and space, thrust into an unforeseen future by the capricious whims of interdimensional portals. Clutching a snack pack of potato chips, she listened intently as one of her fellow Slayers, with painstaking patience, elucidated the concept of 'noshing' and its imperative in sustaining her formidable strength.

With a bemused furrow of her brow, Buffy pondered the surreal circumstances that had led her here. "Apparently, this is the future," she remarked wryly, her voice tinged with incredulity. "Hey, portals are wonky," she added with a shrug, as if that were a satisfactory explanation for her displacement from the familiarity of her own living room to the plush confines of the hotel lobby.

“Didn’t they always give out chocolate chip cookies at these places? I feel cheated,” Buffy grumbled, the corners of her mouth downturned in mild disappointment. Her gaze swept across the opulent surroundings, momentarily distracted from the weight of her responsibilities as the Chosen One. The memory of her encounters with the First, a formidable and elusive adversary, lingered in her mind, a sobering reminder of the relentless struggle against the forces of darkness.

"Do these people know what they’re in for?" Buffy muttered to herself, a flicker of concern betraying her stoic facade. With a resolute tilt of her chin, she steeled herself for the battles that lay ahead, determined to confront whatever malevolent entities dared to threaten the fragile peace of this unfamiliar world.


Your Grave I Do Deeply Dig

"Every." Buffy's fist collided with the newly risen vampire's face, the impact resounding through the night air. "Cemetery." Another blow, this time to the creature's gut, causing it to double over in pain. "Looks the same." With a swift motion, she thrust the stake into the vampire's heart, her resolve unyielding as she dispatched yet another denizen of the night. With a final expletive-laden curse, the once immortal foe crumbled to dust at her feet, a testament to her prowess as the Slayer.

Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust, a sneeze escaping her as she recoiled from the cloud of vampiric ash. "Dear GOD, did I just get vamp up my nose??" She stuck out her tongue in revulsion, emitting a sound of pure disgust. Shaking her head to rid herself of the lingering sensation, she paused momentarily, her senses attuned to the faint sounds of struggle echoing through the cemetery.

“Hey!” With a swift motion, Buffy tossed one of her stakes to the person being attacked, her eyes ablaze with determination. She lunged forward, seizing the vampire by her hair and wrenching her away from her intended victim. "Nobody is getting killed on my watch," she declared, her voice firm and unwavering as she stood as the stalwart guardian of the night.


Crash Into Me My Party

If The Odeon were a purse, it would be found sold on a table set up on a sidewalk in some big city with an insignia that read “Prado” instead of “Prada.” Oh, yes, it’s a knockoff, but Clevelanders probably have no idea what they’re missing out on. At least, that’s what Buffy assumes.

Right now, she'd rather be twirling on the dance floor with some wholesome Midwestern beau, but her Slayer senses are on high alert. Seated at a table strategically positioned for optimum surveillance of the club, Buffy's either awaiting the arrival of someone who can inject a bit more excitement into her night or bracing herself for the inevitable chaos that always seems to find her.

Fire Bad, Doubletree Pretty

[readreceipts]

Maddie hadn't gotten to quite the level of lawless the other Afterlife Society members had gotten to. Being a ghost only for a few weeks meant she behaved almost human where the others did basically anything knowing the mortal world wasn't going to react.

Which was for the best now that the living could see her, or at least some of them. That'll take some getting used to (again). Still, she was already used to taking however much food she wanted knowing she'd never take the last of anything. (Ghosts truly got to have their cake and eat it too.) So she had way more snacks than any one person could get away with.

Overhearing that last question Maddie paused, there was a level of certainty that said this woman did have an idea of what we were in for. Which got Maddie's attention, "You could share with the class. Since you seem to know."

Crash!

[diana_abel]

Buffy wasn't the only one who would rather have been dancing. The fact was, Diana absolutely loved dancing. It just wasn't feasible right now, seeing as every single part of her body below the collarbone was a constellation map of bitemarks. She'd taken a lot of pains (kinda literally) to cover them with long sleeves, a broomstick skirt, and various scarves. Tragically, she was beginning to think it hadn't really been worth the effort. For one thing, moving too much still hurt. For another, there was nothing she could do about the bites on the backs of her hands.

A part of her regretted coming to the club. Another part of her--the more Diana-esque part, her sisters would probably say--had realized that the last thing she ought to be doing right now was sitting along, sulking, feeling sorry for herself and what had happened to her. She was alive. Somehow. Miraculously. She needed to act like it.

Nothing made her feel more alive than music.

So, yes. Coming here had been the right move. Nevertheless, it was probably time to go.

Diana was making her way to the door (past the adorable blond girl) when she nearly tripped on one of the laces of her boot. With a sigh, she leaned over to start retying it, lifting the edge of her skirt up just enough to show some scandalous calf. A calf that looked like it had been turned into a dog's chewtoy.

Ashley | Werewolf the Apocalypse TTRPG (OC) | OTA

[ironrider]

Hotel

Memories of where he had been before reaching the crossroads were fuzzy at best. Feelings more then actual memories. Thoughts that weren't anchored to people or places. He kept thinking about how glad he was to be back on solid ground, but didn't really know why he felt that way. Or why the heavy feeling of loss pressed firmly down on his chest.

"This must be hell." He mumbled as he stretched out on the couch in the lobby. A Doubletree in No-Where, Midwest USA. Even as he drew breath and could feel his pulse, he was still debating if he was dead or not. The girl he had followed to the hotel hadn't told him anything that made him feel certainty one way or the other. Was this a bad dream? This place kind of had that ominous energy he always felt before diving headlong into a nightmare. Like something was waiting in the shadows.

The only certainty he has is that sitting alone in an empty hotel room is a bad idea. He can have his existential crisis and people watch in the lobby. There were other people. That's a good sign right?


The Odeon

He convinced himself that going to the club was a good way to learn about where he was and the people who lived here. Get a better feel for this place. It was also just the kind of thing he has always done to push back feeling lonely. He often frequents bars and clubs to get lost in the crowd of strangers. To drink his thoughts away. Dance and sweat to the pulse of a good song and forget.

Perched at the bar he leans back to support his upper body against the counter.

"Who is this band?" He asks. His foot jiggles along to the beat where it is resting on the barstool.

Wildcard

[PM to discuss if you have a really wild idea, otherwise I'm game for just about anything.]

have another werewolf, friend

[wereperrito]

"Absolutely no idea," Jack answers, looking a little bit like all the noise and crowding in the nightclub is giving him a headache, but he's sticking it out gamely for the moment, perched on a nearby barstool. "Someone local I think? Definitely a cover band, though. I recognized two songs earlier."

Cordelia Chase | Angel

[visionsinprada]

Arrival - Good

In the moments before her encounter with, as Cordy would say, the glittery phantom, she'd been in Angel's convertible with the whole gang. Plus one! But as soon as they'd gotten ready to leave Plrtz Glrb for the earth dimension, and LA, she found herself alone and compelled to head to the right tunnel.

How that winding path managed to spit her out in Ohio of all places was anyone's guess.

Cordelia Chase was always dressed fabulously but not usually this inappropriately for the occasion. In the hotel lobby stood a tall, brunette woman that looked like a princess from a medieval fantasy. Her outfit read as a cross between royalty and a belly dancer; she wore a precious metal studded bikini top, flowing bottoms, and a tiara. Despite her appearance, when Cordelia spoke she sounded very modern and had a pronounced valley girl tone.

Upon entering the hotel, someone had ushered Cordelia to the front desk where she soon learned about the available room, mobile phone, and $300 stipend. That came as a pleasant surprise, especially with how poorly she was paid back in Los Angeles. Cordy was assuaged... but only so much.

"I'm getting SO tired of portals and weird caves. So tired," she complained loudly to no one in particular. "Of all the ways to screw up a spell home, I end up trapped in Cleveland?"

The seer wasn't prepared for this. She'd had visions of a lot of things and yet she'd been in the dark about being separated from her friends again. Cordelia wasn't sure if they'd ended up in the same place or if she was even in the same reality. The whole slipping through tears in the fabric of reality was getting super, duper played out.

And, as much as she loved her princess attire, Cordy needed some alternative clothes stat.

[hopethatremains]

Sophia was still mostly milling about the hotel lobby due to the novelty of human spaces. She didn't get to really explore Tokyo with her sister twisting reality into a new horrifying shape stealing the wills of humans.

And she was still dressed as herself, waist-lenght parka over bike shorts. Not the most reasonable of outfits for anyone. Sophia walked over, a little too curious at all the things going on but especial Cordelia's... interesting, attire, "Your clothes do not appear appropriate to the local customs."

On top of Sophia's clothes, the fact that she's well under five feet tall and, has red hearts floating behind her head like overly large pigtails, and her eyes aren't even remotely human. It's likely she's something otherworldly and strange, and should not be giving fashion commentary.

spike — buffy the vampire slayer/angel

[speechy]

A CHOICE TO MAKE (GOODISH)

In classic 'The-Powers-That-Be-Have-It-Out-For-Me' fashion, Spike plummeted through the big, blue shiny fold in reality and came nose first with a dirty cavern floor, none too quietly. If asked, he'd remark that the screaming that happened simultaneously was from the other bloke nearby — yeah, just missed him. Funny, that. All of that aside, he found he was less concerned with his ego and more worried about the eerily familiar whispering that currently plagued him like an incessant buzzing. (Been there, done that. Didn't much care for the voices in the head shenanigans, thank you.)

"What's all this, then?" He sniffed disinterestedly.

(Listen, when you've been to one wacky dimension, you've practically been to them all.)

Sooner rather than later, it became apparent that no answer was coming by standing still. Regardless of what he was leaving behind, the whats-it with the magic was gone, like the rift had never been there. As much as Spike would prefer to ignore the whole ordeal and stride down a third unforeseen path to make his own way in the world, he followed the girl. Wasn't there always a girl?

Seconds turned to minutes to hours and what remained true in all dimensions seemed to be the need to prattle on needlessly about something or other, explaining every minor detail. He wasn't turned yesterday. At the first opportunity, Spike slipped from the gathered cluster of newcomers — some which looked ill-equipped, others who might have stood a chance — to get away from all the noise.

( I. ) The first thing he was interested in getting over with was feeding without an audience. Slayer Central had never been notorious for being open-minded and he expected that Cleveland was no different, even with a reputation that might have proceeded him (if anyone here actually survived the cratering of Sunnydale). It was as good an excuse as any, really, to escape the rah-rah-good-guy rallying. Anyone that popped into the kitchen was going to be faced with a bag of blood getting poured into a coffee mug and set in the microwave and the biggest look of indifference in all of history.

"I'm a growing boy." He explained dryly, followed by nothing else.

( II. ) Otherwise, he could be found in common rooms, particularly if there are televisions available. Or even in the gym, should someone want a sparring partner. Almost as though he was determined to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Certainly not because he was avoiding a run-in with someone(s) he might already know.

RESSERUCTION CEMETERY

"Well, don't look at me, mate. I'm on my legally provided rest break."

What should you not say to a newly risen vampire? That, probably. What with the rage and the bloodlust, all at an undeniable peak after having clawed free from their own grave. Spike didn't seem to care much about that, considering . . . well, everything. He looked perfectly at ease, perched atop a headstone, idly examining his new cellphone and playing none other than Candy Crush Saga. The future was brilliant.

Although, should someone scream ( and he was at a good pausing point ), he could be inclined to intervene.

A PARTY TO CRASH - THE ODEON

Zero out of ten — not that there were critics about, shaking him down for his two cents about the club. Or the town. ...Or the cult.

You know, a man dies and it's supposed to mean something! Not just a brief reprieve. The First they took out in the crater should have been The Last. Not even a smile springs forth at what he did there and he usually was quite fond of his own wordplay. It was a bone he had to pick for months, trapped in Wolfram & Hart, unable to leave and here it was again, unburied at his feet. He thought he was over it. Made his peace, threw in with a new team, and yet. Some things weren't easily compartmentalized.

Misery, party of one, had a little less stalk to his step than the ire he currently felt when he stepped outside into the cool night.

He pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his jacket, put it between his lips, only to discover a new nail in his boot. His lighter was missing. Naturally.

Forced into small talk, the true horror of the multiverse.

"Hey," he called to the person nearest without much of a real lookover. "Got a light?"

( OOC: rolling with post-series on both buffy and angel here, for anyone curious! haven't decided if i want to play with the comic!verse or not yet, but will probably vague it up with canonmates until i decide? come at me! wildcard is also an option if none of these starters intrigue anyone. i can match prose or brackets. )

[diana_abel]

Diana was sitting on the stairs leading up to the stage, tuning the guitar she'd borrowed from the stage manager. Her whole body was covered in vampire bites, but the one that was giving her the most consternation, at the moment, was the one on the heel of her right palm. Try as she ight, she couldn't stop brushing it, every time she played. Logic would dictate that she just stop playing until she healed.

But Diana Abel wasn't exactly known for her deep logic.

Look, she needed the music. It was one of the few things that made her forget the fact that a sadist could play connect-the-dots with her skin, right now.

She glanced up at the question, sweeping the choppy fringe of her brown hair out of her eyes as she took in...wow, that sure was a Billy Idol look-alike. "Sorry," she said, offering a faint smile. "Afraid I left my purse back in another universe."