villagemod: (ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ)
The Village Mod ([personal profile] villagemod) wrote in [community profile] villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
Entry tags:

test drive — spring



SPRING TEST DRIVE

Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.

Prospective players are welcome to play with any of the established locations within Mathias.

( Recommended listening: )





GHOSTS OF THE LIVING

The fog moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. It is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate as the sky is blotted out and no one can see more than ten feet in any direction.

Those who are outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, hoping that a randomly chosen direction will lead them to shelter or another living soul. There are perhaps even those who were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Wherever they are, the residents of Mathias will soon notice that they are not the only ones in the fog.

Anyone out in the fog is left disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

With all of these elements at play, the first strange apparitions encountered may be assumed to be figments of addled minds, tricks played by psyches struggling to cope with the strange reality they've found themselves in. But before long, there will be no denying that the Others in the fog are real. Appearing almost wraithlike and startlingly recognizable, these figures even feel a bit like ghosts to those who can sense such things, though everyone will feel that there is something wrong about them. Truly, there are many things wrong that residents will begin to notice as they encounter more and more of the spectres that do not acknowledge their presence in any way. They simply exist, silent and subtly terrifying like so many things in this town.

Like misty ghosts of those who have been in the town at one point or another, the Others appear as those who have died or disappeared and even those currently within the town. The likeness is truly uncanny, to the point of being completely terrifying, made even more so when they realize there is no way to communicate with the Others. They do not acknowledge anyone's presence nor anything said to them. At times, they may be only one in an area, or there may be a dozen existing in the same space. There is no limit to how many people can see them — if they are there, they are seen by all.

The Others do not enter buildings and cannot be contained in any way. They can appear at one moment and be gone in the next, or they can exist in one place for hours on end. Whether standing stationary or slowly wandering throughout the town, there is no discernible purpose to them. There is something absent and distant in the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, and their expressions, as if even they cannot grasp what is happening.



A BIT OF EXPLORATION

There are plenty of places in which to get one's bearings and hide from the fog.

There are businesses on the square, nestled around and extending out from the Town Hall. There is a schoolhouse nestled by the southern treeline, not from the rather expansive makeshift cemetery at the end of Jackson Boulevard that is courtesy of a few kind residents in town. To the far north of the square is a sprawling garden, now covered in snow, and a greenhouse that once supplied the botanical shop. And to the east and west, beyond the business square, is are residential districts.

The eastern district sprawls all the way to the beach, with some houses in perfect condition and others beginning to show significant signs of age. The western district, however, is nothing but decay. From the beginnings of rot to completely collapsed and little more than a pile of proverbial bones, none of these homes are anything resembling livable. Well, as far as one can tell, at least. For between the streets of Hill Lane and Stine Road there is a crack in the earth. A dozen feet across and fifty feet down, there is no way across.



TO SEE AND BE SEEN

Standing at the center of Mathias, the Town Hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Covering the board are tacked-on scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And painted directly across the center of the board, visible in the gaps between the pieces of paper, is a symbol in dark red. While peering at that obscured symbol, a strange breeze ruffles the papers, revealing a little more, just enough to—

An eye. A strange, ornate eye with three lobes, painted in still-wet red. And upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the paint is actually blood, perhaps even human.

The longer someone stands there, the more it will feel like they are being watched, even studied, with great interest. It's a sensation that lingers and stays with them even when they exit the building.



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demonicmiracle: (006)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-05-17 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
[Generally, Crowley is the chatty sort when he's nervous in an attempt to cover up said nerves. Talking nonsense about anything and everything is easy and stops people from realizing that something might be wrong.

There are far too many thoughts swirling in his head right now for him to attempt small talk, so he's quiet for the walk, sticking close by and hoping Aziraphale doesn't notice when he stumbles once or twice.

He sighs with relief when the greenhouse comes into view, no matter how run down it is.]


Sad state of affairs.

[A mild complaint, all things considered.

Crowley makes his way inside, noting the overgrown benches, the broken pots. As soon as he finds a relatively clear spot, he immediately sinks to the ground, head tipped back against the wall.

He can't remember the last time he was this exhausted.]
physioneural: (05)

Steve Rogers | Marvel 70105

[personal profile] physioneural 2021-05-17 03:03 am (UTC)(link)

Ghosts of the Living

[ The bright red glow that emanates from the center of Steve's chest does nothing to help him with his surroundings; it kicks the reflection back in his face, making hardly a dent in the thick fog that's chilling him to the bone. The cold is already eating away at his bad knees and old joints with each cautious step forward.

Every time a shadow—a person maybe? Or, a lamppost—begins forming in the distance, it's quickly snuffed out like a desert mirage. ]


Someone there?

[ And no matter how many times he's called out, nothing has ever answered him. ]



A Bit of Exploration

General Store

[ After what felt like a lifetime, he finds himself closing in on a general store. He's cautious at first, his steps slowing to a crawl, but the dark spot in his vision does not disappear this time. It grows larger, fleshing out into detail as if a photo was being developed right in front of his eyes.

Then, finally, his hand touches glass. Real glass. He opens one of the doors and steps in, blinking back the harsh fluorescent light that cuts through the dark fog. Everything inside is bathed in a stark glow, every item neatly placed on the shelves, and no one in sight. ]


Hello? [ As expected, Steve gets no response. So he walks between the aisles, picking up the first box he sees—a brand of cereal he doesn't recognize with a goofy cartoon mascot painted on the front. ] I'd like to pay for this!

[ Anything? ]


Right Round Records

[ Now this is something Steve can get lost in. He's flipping through every sleeve crammed in the boxes labelled "Jazz." Plenty are unfamiliar to him, but some he knows well and are alarmingly expensive. ]

I'm gonna have to remember to save my collection...

[ He might be able to make a killing in a couple of decades. Once he exhausts that genre, he moves on to "Rock," which is not at all what he remembers. ]
oldbookshop: (i never! except for the last time u did)

[personal profile] oldbookshop 2021-05-17 09:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ Okay. Good. Okay. With the door shut and no steady streams of leaked-in fog in sight, that's one less thing.

Crowley is sitting down. Also good. Seemed like he needs the rest. Doesn't seem like his corporation's physically injured even though he's clearly not at his best. No one's immediately burst in to try to... he doesn't even know, apprehend them or something.

Look at that, they have good things positively piling up. ]


That's already a bit better. I think.

[ Aziraphale stays standing and paces, for his part. He sticks to Crowley's vicinity, wanting to be sure to keep him in plain sight, but life today in general has him a touch too jittery to take a seat. So much to fruitlessly overthink, so little time. ]
demonicmiracle: (045)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-05-17 12:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[Crowley is struck by a brief sense of empathy for all the times he's paced circles around Aziraphale, wondering if it was as distracting and worrying as he's finding the pacing now. The only mercy is that if he closes his eyes, it's suddenly no longer a problem.

For a second, all he can do is breathe, before finally working up to asking what he needs to ask.]


What happened, at the bookshop?

[There may be other, more important questions, such as how the whole apocalypse thing went. But this is the most important one to Crowley.]
oldbookshop: (thank god for our incompetence)

[personal profile] oldbookshop 2021-05-17 04:02 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Valid question. Good starting point in general, actually, seeing how a lot of what happened didn't really start happening until after. ]

Bad luck, mostly. Afraid I made a bit of a mess of things. [ "I made a bit of a mess of things." Story of their whole anti-Armageddon campaign.

Aziraphale takes a moment of his own to try and get events in order. Or the relevant ones. His pacing kicks down a few notches into more of a vague, distracted ambling. ]


For starters, I worked out where the Antichrist was. [ Which is relevant. ] And I thought-- well, I thought, if I've got the information, why not try to go up the ladder about it? Stop that war nonsense officially. Keep it all above-board. Save everyone. So I put in that call to the Almighty that I was talking about, because surely nobody actually wanted...

[ Surely nobody wanted a war to end all wars, or to destroy all of humanity and Earth in the process, because surely they all cared about a world made to be loved, even just as a little bit more than a battleground. He and Crowley were already found out, no undoing that, but it's not like that was Earth's fault or something.

Aziraphale can't make himself finish the statement.

Everything worked out, but it doesn't take much away from how much some parts of the whole affair hurt. What is... a nice way to put it. ]


Well. Let's just say you were right about how that would go over. [ Poorly. Everybody else, as it turned out, wanted rather badly, and the Almighty was out of office. ] That was when I tried to reach you instead, if you remember. And you really ought to work on your phone etiquette, my dear, as an aside.

[ Okay, that last part is not relevant. He's chosen to take the long walk to contextualizing, and it just gets folded in without really thinking about it. Not offended or upset about it after the fact as much as an absentminded verbal note stuck to a fridge with a novelty magnet.

This would have been a great time to have a powerpoint presentation. ]
demonicmiracle: (072)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-05-17 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[When the rest of his existence has become strange and confusing, at least he can count on Aziraphale to be consistent. True to form, the long winded explanation fails to shed any actual light on the situation or answer any of Crowley's questions. All it does is worry him that Heaven were somehow responsible for the disappearance and bookshop fire.

Overall -5/10 for the explanation. Raised more questions while insulting him at the same time. Peak Aziraphale.]


Yeah, sorry was a bit busy with the puddle of Ligur goo and Hastur trying to drag me down to Hell.

[Breaking news: he doesn't actually sound all that sorry.]

Can we speed the story up a bit?
nottevintersoldier: https://anangrym.dreamwidth.org/14539.html (dorian 17 anangrym)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-17 05:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Dorian's not sure what he's expecting at first, but as the lights dim his eyes widen and he looks around the room to see the shadows spread and deepen, darkening the edges around them. He's fascinated by it, curious how far the other's control of the shadows extends. What else can he do with them? Of course, he'd love to pry, ask all kinds of questions, but the other was already hesitant to do this much. He had said it was taxing on him, after all. Dorian is certainly exhausted from his own display and practice, so he wonders how powerful the other is with his specialty.

"Marvelous." He smiles softly at the other, that same intrigued spark in his eye. "Yes, in a way. The staves are weapons in their own right, but they can be modified with various materials or gems to help amplify our power and give some beneficial bonuses."

He turns a wrist, waggling his fingers in fluid tutting, and lets a little green flame alight on his palm. It glows brightly through the lingering shadows creeping in around them. "I'm still quite capable of doing my magics, but they would be stronger, more honed with a staff."
nottevintersoldier: Icon created by me - do not take (Default)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-17 05:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Dorian has a little laugh at himself, "Yes, afraid so. At least I can be somewhat useful in this strange new world. I hope."

He's grinning all the while, unusually relaxed, though the moonshine definitely helps. "I'm glad I could provide a break in the monotony."

A joke, of course, he's certain with the uncomfortable fog there comes plenty of other unsavory things that keep all the residents on their toes. "Music, where I'm from, is typically played and sung by bards. Many songs are stories being told to music. Or simply played for atmosphere and dancing."
Edited 2021-05-17 17:20 (UTC)
nottevintersoldier: (10 - anabiotic)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-17 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"Maker's breath, I can't say I blame you for the fowl mood then." He can barely imagine waking up in such a state, in a completely alien place just lost in a fog that makes you sick.

"Apologies I can't seem to do much more for your state, at the moment. I'm not sure how far my magics will last us and I'm trying to preserve the energy. At least you should be feeling somewhat more energized for the time being." He has some potions, but at this rate, he'd rather save them for an emergency. Who knows when he could find some or make some again.

"And as far as sick sons of bitches go, I have had my fair share." His father is the first to come to mind of course, but Corypheus is certainly up there, among others.

"Sorry, I'm Dorian, by the way. I suppose this sort of situation is easy to forget your manners."
oldbookshop: (these bitches i s2g)

[personal profile] oldbookshop 2021-05-17 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He stands by his statement. It was still rude. But maybe he'll let it slide for extenuating circumstances. Either way, Aziraphale will not bother to learn anything about answering machines. ]

Yes, yes, full steam ahead. [ Forget the powerpoint presentation. He wishes he had wine. ]

Now, Upstairs had left the line open for me to pop up and join in. Which I had no intention of doing if I could help it, obviously. Perfectly happy to leave it there for a bit and take care of things ourselves. Only some human burst in and started trying to exorcise me. Must have overheard something. Absolutely ridiculous. [ He's actually still offended enough about that after the fact that he stops pacing.

The fucking audacity, honestly. ]
I wound up stepping into the transportation circle trying to keep him from stepping into the blasted thing. And, well.

[ Vague wiggly-fingered one-handed gesture?? Yes. The physical equivalent of one of Crowley's Wordless Sounds. ]

Upstairs I went. Gets you discorporated, when you haven't made the preparations to do it beforehand. So.. so there was nothing on Earth for you to find when you came looking for me. I couldn't even tell you what got the fire started in the first place. It happened sometime after.

[ Aziraphale doesn't sound like he thinks foul play from above or below factors in. As much as that's worth in the moment.

He's broadly grateful, he thinks, that he didn't see the shop burn. Didn't see it start to catch right before he was taken completely out of reach. After everything settled down later that night, it was hard enough just trying to process the loss hearing about it secondhand.

He can only imagine what it would've been like for Crowley. ]
demonicmiracle: (045)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-05-17 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[In amongst all the other words is an actual answer for how Aziraphale disappeared, and while it leaves something to be desired, it could be worse. Discorporated, not destroyed, and not hurt by Heaven, which is one of Crowley's worst fears.]

Right. [Breathing is an unnecessary affectation but a useful one. He takes a few deep breaths, in and out, trying to center himself, pretending he can't still smell smoke and taste ash on his tongue.] Suppose anything could have started the fire, with all those books.

[Not the most flameproof material, really.]

How'd you get a body again? Can't imagine Heaven would be keen about handing one out.
oldbookshop: (we will win of course)

[personal profile] oldbookshop 2021-05-17 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Suppose so.

[ He needs to figure out some preventative measures for that. Something a little more foolproof than assuming he'd be there to catch it and miracle it away. Add it to the docket. ]

I'm sure they wouldn't have been. Seeing how there were much more important things to be getting on with at the moment, I didn't stay to ask. I just sort of... popped back down to Earth without. Found you, told you where we needed to go. Possessed someone for a little bit so I could meet you there.

[ As one does. ]

I've only got a new body because the Antichrist manifested it. Adam, I mean. His name's Adam. Lives out in Tadfield. Rather nice young man, actually.
abrightboy: (self deprecating smile)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-05-17 09:07 pm (UTC)(link)
"You can hear musicians play live where I'm from but... these sorts of devices allow you to listen to a song whenever you want," he points out.
bardish: 40s; SCD (scd314)

exploration!

[personal profile] bardish 2021-05-18 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
Jeff maybe makes it fifteen minutes out in the fog before he decides: fuck going back to the house, he's just going to hunker down in the first building he can reach. He just can't deal with it. He can't. Seeing things... The little blink-and-you'll-miss-its out of the corner of his vision, it just scratches at old scars, trying to tear them open.

The General Store offers some reprieve, at least. Jeff finds a corner to hunker down in, right by some canned goods. It feels oddly safe by the cans, like, in a pinch he could throw them at something. Or build a wall against the hallucinations. A fortress of tin...

When he hears footsteps, Jeff hunches in his corner, pulls his knees to his chest, closes his eyes and tries to cover his ears to block out any ghostly bullshit. Take a deep breath, count down, and...

Huh? The ghost wants to pay for something?

Blinking, Jeff scoots out of his corner and peers around the aisle.

"You want to... buy something?"
Edited 2021-05-18 00:12 (UTC)
physioneural: (Default)

[personal profile] physioneural 2021-05-18 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
The distinct screech of rubber skittering along linoleum is incredibly jarring after the smothering sound of silence he's become so accustomed to in the fog. Thankfully, Steve's not one to spook easily. Setting down the wacky box of sugar cereal where it came from, he leans back from the shelf to catch a glimpse of whomever finally answered him. Perhaps a clerk who had been stuck in the back this whole time?

"Actually, I was more interested in seeing if anyone responded," he admits with a casual ease that he doesn't totally feel. His Mach 2 is nothing but a crushed tin can on a New york City street corner, and he has no firearm on his person. Added with the fact that his body is still aching from his last encounter with the Hulk and, well, Steve isn't feeling particularly confident he'd win in a fight with this guy (though between the two of them, this guy looks more terrified than him).

"You work here, mister?" Steve asks calmly and respectfully. Judging by the fact that all he can see of the man is his head only a foot off the tile floor would suggest that, no, he does not.
oldbookshop: (NO COMMENT)

[personal profile] oldbookshop 2021-05-18 11:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ Things that have clearly somehow not really occurred to Aziraphale so far in his day: that. ]

Ohhhhh, yes. Right. Lodging. [ A very important thing that humans do in new places. ] Suppose I can't just live at this shop.

[ Alas. The cruel hand of fate. On the other hand, already knowing that obviously nothing will hold a candle to home makes this a less stressful concept. ]

I haven't had to, to 'house hunt' in quite some time. There aren't going to be too many options to sort through, are there?
abrightboy: (you what?)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-05-18 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Malcolm glances around uneasily.

“I mean... you could live here. Nobody is going to stop you. But. ...There’s something wrong with this place.”

He glances towards the door.

“There’s a boarding house nearby, if you just want a room for now. A friend of mine lives there; he’d help if you need anything. You can also choose any abandoned house but... you might want to choose a house with people once you make friends. So you’re not alone.”
nottevintersoldier: (12 - anabiotic)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-18 02:23 pm (UTC)(link)
There's a look there, one he's seen a number of times on the Inquisitor's face or that of his companions. There's something haunted and lost in thought, or maybe remembering something important, distant. He doesn't remark on it but tucks it away for later.

"It seems this place holds a number of questions and even fewer answers." He sighs, eyes moving to the papers on the board as if they might suddenly hold said answers.

"I suppose it would be overwhelming to anyone." He watches her attention shift to the red markings and he'll follow her fingers to where she touches it. He'll move a few notes aside to reveal there's more, tilting his head and moving others till a part of an eye is revealed. A shudder runs up his spine, goosebumps forming over his skin and he'll turn his gaze up and around as if expecting to see someone watching them.

"Hmm... that's unpleasant." He looks back to the wet, red, eye. He'll reach out to touch it feeling it on his fingertips. "...blood?"

He frowns, "Of all the things... of course there's blood magic here."
Edited 2021-05-18 14:24 (UTC)
nottevintersoldier: (5 - anabiotic)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-18 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's remarkable. How is it done? How do they get the music on those disks?" He pauses.

"Sorry, I suppose, if there is a library somewhere with that information I could always look it up." He clears his throat, realizing his fascination could be slaked in private with a good book. There are more important questions.

"Do you know why we are here?"
skladka: <user name=squarebox> (134)

[personal profile] skladka 2021-05-18 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Aleksander. Cute. The Darkling watches her for a few moments, gaze on her face, leaning back to his original position: he still has quite the amount of height on her, but he's far less imposing, far less intimidating in his neutral position in comparison to what he'd been done previously.

Alina as an equal. The Darkling looks down at her, face impassive, stoic. Perhaps Alina is actually learning--perhaps he'd been incorrect a few moments ago. He's impressed. A small part of him is proud, even. ]


And what will you tell them of us, when the subject comes up? [ What will you tell of him, he means, eyes narrowing. ]
abrightboy: (regretful)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-05-18 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
"There is a library," he tells Dorion, "but I don't mind explaining. If you want. Nobody knows why we're here, unfortunately. There are a lot of theories around. Just about everybody has one."
skladka: <user name=squarebox> (059)

[personal profile] skladka 2021-05-18 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Magic, he says, mages, he says, and the room's darkness retracts slightly--it's still dim, his power still in effect, but the other can at least see better. Not that he has to, with that green flame. An interesting colour. An interesting man.

"Impressive. Is it always that colour, Mr...?" He's fishing for an introduction, brow raised, though his gaze is more on the little bit of flame. The fact that he needs a staff is just as intriguing.
twowaypath: (Default)

Tai (Star Wars: Rise of Kylo Ren)

[personal profile] twowaypath 2021-05-18 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
1- GHOSTS OF THE LIVING

Tai is one of the unfortunate ones left outside in the blinding fog. What's worse is he had barely had any bearings to begin with. This place is new and unfamiliar, and now he's lost his line of sight to where he had thought he might have seen a building before this strange weather rolled in. He continues in what he thinks is that direction, regardless, as it quickly becomes apparent that staying out in the fog may not be the best idea. Though it also doesn't take long for him to wonder if he's completely lost track of whatever building he'd thought he saw.

A short-lived sense of relief washes over him as he spots another person, only to realise that it isn't a person. It both looks and feels different from that, in a way that might make him hesitate to get any closer, if not for how much this figure looks like-

"Ben?"

Tai's eyes go wide with puzzled recognition. Others who knew this face in the fog might have known him as Kylo Ren, but that isn't a name Tai has ever heard. He'd known him before all that, and certainly before... whatever this is. If that really is Ben somehow, then what happened to him? Why is he this ghost-like figure, when Tai, against all odds, seems to be flesh and blood?

The figure shows no indication of having heard Tai address him, walking off into the fog. Tai can't help but follow, inadvisable or not, hoping for answers.

"Wait! Ben!"

2- TO SEE AND BE SEEN

The notes on the bulletin board are an enlightening look into the life of this place. He's not expecting the sense of relief he feels when he finds the one written in familiar Aurebesh text, and he finds himself wondering who here might have written it. He may need to ask around.

It's about when he gets to the painting of an eye that he starts to feel something amiss in this room. He's being watched. His first impulse is to search in the Force for who and where and why, but his senses are muddier here than they ever had been at home, and he comes up with empty answers. Failing that, he looks around for any sign of who or what he might be feeling, scanning for eyes on him, other than the one painted on the board.

The only other person around doesn't seem focused on him, and he expects the answer is still elsewhere, though it's difficult to be certain.

"Hello," he starts politely, "did you need something?" If it turns out this was the person who had been watching him, maybe there's a simple reason. He can hope.

3- WILDCARD

He'll be generally exploring and trying to get his bearings here, so if you have other thoughts about where to run into him, toss them at me.
Edited 2021-05-18 22:36 (UTC)
twowaypath: (Default)

ghosts

[personal profile] twowaypath 2021-05-19 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
[Tai likewise has been lost in the fog for much too long by now, failing to find a building to duck inside, or anyone else who might know the lay of the land better than he does. The sound of someone calling out is almost startling, but decidedly hopeful compared to the blankness he's been surrounded with.]

Hello?

[He calls back, starting to walk in the direction the other voice sounded as if it had come from.]
nottevintersoldier: (seven)

[personal profile] nottevintersoldier 2021-05-19 01:43 am (UTC)(link)
"Depends on what I use it for." He says, turning his hand again to close his fingers around the flame and snuff it out.

"Sorry, I've forgotten my manners. The name is Dorian. No mister needed." Curious he'll approach the other slowly so as not to seem like a threat. In fact, when he gets near enough he'll offer him a hand in greeting.

"And you are?"

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