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I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now
The door was still. Sitting uneasily in it's own frame, a single hinge partially rusted with swirling eddies of jagged earthen tones. Stoic, staid. Wood that had borne a single splinter ridden crater and the visible glint of a piece of metal bullet as a testament to it's violent reintroduction to the whims of the living. The door stayed still even as observed, refusing a storybook compelling to cliche and action, happily defying anthropic principal.

The noise beyond the door, the creaking of flesh uneasily on top of bone and the crack of concrete pebbles under a wooden sole, made no such pretensions.


"..."

And heavy thuds and impacts along the wall, perhaps a few degrees to the left of the abandoned door frame, something gracelessly plopping with the rustling tones of heavy breathing. Desperate breathing. The noise sped to a rapid heartbeats per minute. A squeak, in a decidedly human tone. A rumble as the earth resettled to accommodate something, dirt crunching and creaking as it was dug anew.

SC2 First Announcement
[aggressive playing of sappy Hillsong music]

Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?
Paris could hear his friends, the rowdiness of their lives yet to be lived.

He knew they would handle the rest. He didn't have to watch them anymore. His thoughts turned away from them. His attention began to slip elsewhere, away from the cold and chill settling into his body, away from fingers that slowly curdled, limp, lifeless.

Paris basked in a serene feeling of contemplation and contentment. He now thought about things beyond this earth. He thought about his father, somehow, in those final moments. Wondering if his father had felt this same feeling as he'd lay dying in the wreckage of his car.

Maybe his father had accepted salvation, in his last moments. Maybe Paris would be meeting him again, in just a few moments, on the other side. Paris thought that would be pretty alright. He chose, in his final moments, to believe it was true.

And somehow perhaps, it was.

Paris Ardennes: Deceased

I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now
Weeds snaked from fistfuls of crumbled concrete that were stirred into the pale clay of the earth. The little grasses swayed into a gentle breeze in soft and childish sashays, patted atop their heads by the motherly embrace of the morning sun.

Little rustles. The wall of the mess hall was wooden panel, unyielding grain long weathered into gorgeously bleached strips, a melting tie-dye of mahogany and ebony. It was unfeeling when greeted by the most gentle of fleshy pats, inaudible. The lack of sound dragged, ever so slightly downward, a rumbling grind sans volume.

The fresh earth and the dancing weeds were patted down flat in acute bursts.

Static hummed in the air. A whistle, then a louder and louder hum that was first within the ears, creeping right under the hollow space in the skull. It was then without the ears, the droning boom of an innocuous voice.

"Gooood morning, children..."

The door to the mess hall was enthroned in a rickety frame, cut at angles sharp enough to splinter and splinters sharp enough to cut at angles. It was halfheartedly painted a vibrant shade of dusky earth that was the exact same shade of wall surrounding it. The door groaned in rich bass, creaking louder than any other lifeform in that moment dared, releasing the weight of a building atop it's shoulders. A shadow flitted over the uneven edges of the door frame, filleted into jagged angles. It warbled on the very edge.

The knob of the mess hall door inched infinitesimally one way, then it's spring mechanisms reset in a cascade of tumbling metal and it fell back to inertia.

Obligatory Throwdown Topic
Tina dies unceremoniously in the first post only nobody is sure the death happened or not because the narrative is that gratuitously abstract.
She spontaneously revives and is run by Lore and wins.

Irene is handled by 100 different people in each single post and is somehow still more comprehensible than when I wrote her. She comes in second, dying from tripping over a cliff in the last dramatic showdown.

The remainder are all handled exclusively by me.
Ben probably did something but we're not sure.
Paris was my best character but I kill him off first like a fucking idiot.
Rachael is like Tina but so incomprehensible to this day we're still not actually even sure if she was there at all or not.
Eliza Reed is stuck in pregame.
Dakota Bjornsen got me banned so I don't finish any of my character's storylines anyways.
I go and kill Riki IRL for Lucilly.

EDIT: Latanna so irrelevant she doesn't even get a shitty meta joke

Keep Track Of Things That Happened
The Isolated Cabin

The table in the corner of the front room has been broken. A bed has been dragged in front of the front door.

(Day 1)

The barricade is still standing, probably slightly ajar. Some walls are bullet ridden.

There is an abandoned bloodstained KABAR knife somewhere in the main room.

(Day 2)

Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?
"Just one 'no' would've done, buddy."

Beside himself with existential agony as he was Paris found some small moment of comfort in the humor. It was a pretty good line.

He wondered where Aria was.

His chest continued to spasm. He could only even begin to comprehend he had a body below his neck, feeling searing gasps for air that were never enough. Long ago his hand had fallen away from clutching at a stranger's hand, or maybe it had only been moments. Paris serenely watched himself from somewhere above, contemplating the slow bleeding away of his vision and of his life. "I-... hh-hhuh-.. I..." His breath was a weak, rattling gasp. The air was beginning to escape faster than it could come in, and Paris could feel dregs of warmth seeping out through his teeth like a snowy Christmas night. Somewhere in the distance Mom echoed a call for him to come inside, to where it was warm.

It was too late for the warmth though. Paris finally accepted that. Dry tears crusted down the sides of his splotchy, ugly death mask.

Paris supposed this was His plan. This was the death Paris was worthy of.




He realized.

"... Gu-guh... guys."

He realized that he believed.

"I... It-it's... ok-okuh-..okay..."

Paris believed in Him. Paris believed in the plan. Paris believed nothing could stop him from believing, not even death itself could rob him. It couldn't take his faith, not his faith in Aria, not his faith in Maxwell, not his faith in Soren, not his faith in all the other friends he'd existed with on this Earth in a life so short yet so beautiful. His mortal shell would fail him, but Paris would not fail, would never fail.

He realized this. His voice began to boom with conviction, within his head, even beyond it was perhaps a worthy tone of a final sermon, strength fortifying every gasp and struggle.

"I... it's... it's the pla-..plah... the plan, guys... Ev-.. even... if I die... they c-cah... n't stop us. They.. they can never-... Never... stop us."

Paris felt power. It erupted like the brilliant light of the sun welcoming this Earth to a new day, it was within his chest, making even that gaping mortal wound vanish away.

".. W-we... You guys... You can d-... duh-.. do it! M-my death... it's juh-just... it's nu-nothing... It's.. only th-... beg... in.." Paris felt weights dragging at his eyes, the gentle press of his mother's fingers entreating him to restful slumber. He fought it. He could only see one last thing anyways, something radiant, something that blinded him with undying and immortal glow. "... F-fight... you guys... my gun.. fi-find... ever-... o-one... S-stop... Jasm...muh.. prote-.. tect... the flock..."

Paris, for a moment, felt as if he was standing. Smiling. One last time, giving a friend a friendly bit of advice before he wandered off to spread the word elsewhere.

This time, he wasn't coming back. And that was okay.

"It... it's g-gonna be... okay... I'll se-see yo-.. yu-... you guys... when I see you..."

They would meet again. But not for a long, long time.

This, Paris believed.

The twitching of his dying corpse was dramatic to slow.

SC2 First Announcement


Heroing Paris Ardennes for Kitty Gittschall.

Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?
Paris didn't notice how his chest barely rose with each new breath.

He heard gunshots, fleshy cracks of bone, people rushing to his side. He needed a moment to himself, before he could acknowledged all of that. That moment passed and Paris smiled weakly, up at the worried faces of Aria and an unknown. Good on them, that they'd take action when it was needed. They were the people Paris had been looking for, he was so sure.

"Don't worry, Aria." It was like it always was. Paris and his friends, looking out for each other. One worried, the other calm in the face of danger. Paris figured they'd all be laughing about this one in a moment. "No medkits needed, I can..." He realized that he couldn't feel a hand over his own. He tried to swivel his eyes to check, because there couldn't possibly be a hand there if he wasn't feeling it.

His eyes were heavy, stones in water. They were inert, refusing his commands. Paris realized he hadn't been looking at Aria at all, had only been implying the specter of a friend by beloved memories of a familiar voice.

A chill began to rise through his body.

An emotion he'd never felt before, that had always been far too heavy to drape over the light of his soul. It settled like the lid of a coffin over his still beating heart, and only then did Paris realize his heart beat only weakly. Like a song drawing out it's final measures, echoing out and away.

It couldn't be.

Paris fought the alien feeling of doom, of death. This wasn't him. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"N-... no..."

The feeling only grew stronger, stronger, polluting his brain by the second with blasphemous visions of his own mortality, no, that wasn't true that was impossible he'd had a plan, he'd had righteousness itself by his side.

However he tried to deny it, it still happened.

"No... no, no... no- no, no!" His face was torn by a panic that had never once settled over his features before, such a dire expression of widened pupils and mad spittle dribbling over his lips marring his beauty, his evocation of His image.

His hand around Brandon's began to clench, in desperate spasms, the drowning man looking for his life-preserver. His eyes remained on His kingdom, but there was no answer to his pleading questions.

"N-nuh...n-..noo...." He began to weakly cry as his body slipped away from him.

wAtCH thIS giRl gEt SokAiNg wET
((Permission granted by Bikriki))

Her determined face counted down the moments.

Until they were gone, and her forcibly silent breathing came out antsy.

Instinctively she began to stalk forward, and she didn't quite know why she did that. Danger sense, that odd feeling drop in the stomach thing, stopped her before rounding the corner.

Amanda saw a hand peeking around the corner, clutching at the
stone that pressed in glass jagged edges into the flesh of her palm, her fingers trying to brace, as she staggered drunkenly in place. Rachael stared almost sullenly at the camera that shrugged noncommittally at her from across the room. She meditated upon pain through half shut eyes, pain within : the ceaseless churning of her stomach, the crunchy throb under her shoulder, the maddening numb between her temples. Pain without, the sickly sweet scent of freshly fetid water, the most distant of sounds rustling miles away that echoed into her ears as gunshots and the stories of another friend lost.

As if it even cares about friends anymore.

Rachael's camera-wards gaze carried a certain longing, smoldering and almost seductive with sheer desperation. Her mouth weakly lolled open and shut like the most naive of deep sea fish torn from their home and tossed onto harsh beach-lit suns, her dry lips already well past cracking.

She contemplated, for so long, what she wanted to say. Or, what she possibly could ever say again. The camera waited for her soliloquy.

That thing watched by the camera was certainly no longer familiar to her parent's embrace.

She lifted her gun and it weakly trembled, her arms now too ravaged by adrenaline to manage more than a pathetic angle away from her corpse of a body. More fingers to the wreckage, all hands on deck. She fumbled with the release for her gun's cartridge, her last and most mortal of possessions.

But she kept the cartridge in,
the last of her bullets prepared.

"..."

No last words. Not for a lack of trying. She would have cried if she'd had the energy left for tears.

She left without knowing why she'd come or where she was going.


It shambled on. Unknown footsteps receded until swallowed by the ambiance of distant death.

Amanda signaled the all clear to Jason.

To the left of the pond
to the left to the left
everything you own in a box to the left

Morgan -
Edelmira - She'd give him invites, he hasn't committed any sort of crime or stuff, and if he's a dedicated party-goer he might see her around in other places and be familiar enough to approach. He doesn't really seem like the sort that can actually engage her on any level that's compelling to her personally but she'd be polite and let him speak at her for a while at a time whenever they meet and he'd probably try to hit her up, she's probably a good target in his mind, being as well known as she is.

Nanna-Fiora -
Bridie - She should steal Bridie's food the girl has like a million anyways.
Edelmira - Invite status. Edelmira compliments her on the makeup. Try to steal anything from the party and Edelmira has cameras on cameras.

Faye -
Edelmira - They probably know each other, both being popular girls with party centric social identities! Edelmira's own affairs tend to be earlier and less rowdy than Faye's ideal, I predict, but Faye might throw a visit or two out in solidarity? They could talk shop over reading, whatever it is they actually are reading. Edelmira probably thinks the flirtatiousness is unbecoming but hilarious.

YOU'RE NOT AMERICANS, YOU'RE NOT EVEN WEARING FLAGS ON YOUR HEADS


Charlie -
Bridie - I wonder if Bridie trying her hardest to overcome her deficits and be a MAXIMUM AMERICAN would win Charlie's sympathy? If that's good enough patriotism in her books then Bridie would definitely strive to be Charlie's friend and hang out in her orbit, impressed by her hard work, toughness, and dedication to the military. Bridie would probably have been in Charlie's team during one of her extracurricular activities and tried extra super hard to impress [insert term for senpai but more american].
Edelmira - Likewise maybe something of an edge case since Charlie might not judge Edelmira and her family as good enough or might respect the solid patriotism and see Edelmira's strong networking ability and academics skills as a good job done? I dunno if Charlie would extend the umbrella of 'this impresses me and wins my respect' that far. Edelmira would offer Charlie party invitations unless she didn't take them, at any rate.

Grant -
Bridie - Has a huge crush on him from a distance. If he has ever spoken to her in person she promptly melted away into a purely awkward substrate.
Edelmira - I feel like they'd be on good terms and Grant would be a regular fixture at her parties, he'd enjoy being in the positive regards of someone who's fairly well known in the school (and community at large, really) as Edelmira is- even if she is a minority I think her positives massively cancel out her negatives- and hey, plenty of girls at the parties to flirt with. She politely rebuffs him if he ever makes a pass at her, he's not her type. She welcomes him playing it up though, she can dance the dance with him fairly well I'd imagine? So I could sort of envision them playact flirting back and forth just to make a bit of a scene and entertain guests.

Kami's Sidestories and Maybe Main Stories
Alright, awesome, I am interested in these possibilities!

Bridie and Charlie could definitely share a place in Cooking Club and bond over that! Bridie should be the sort who's very quiet and focused when she's working on her cooking, so she might not be so intimidating for Charlie to be around on a social level then they could get closer and bond over their common interest, especially since they both seem to be the earnest sorts. I could see a complication in Bridie being a bit too friendly at times regardless and maybe getting Charlie frustrated by running her mouth or being too close and casually intimate, but Bridie knows to back off when asked, so they might settle into an equilibrium that works for both of them, especially since Bridie is malleable enough for Charlie to set the pace at something she's comfortable with.

Edelmira might have tried to source from family butcher for one of her get-togethers and met Charlie that way. Edelmira probably wouldn't have the persistence to chase Charlie's acquaintance through the shyness, she would have left her alone with a polite word and maybe an extended invitation to the party that Charlie probably wouldn't have taken. I could see Edelmira using the family butcher as a regular source from then on for the quality assurance, and the two could thus be familiar faces to each other but perhaps Edelmira is too aloof and purely business for Charlie to try and approach again. Like ships passing in the night, with Edelmira feeling some sort of condescending pity for Charlie's demeanor.

wAtCH thIS giRl gEt SokAiNg wET
Rachael lay there, body stiff from pain. Quiet, only because the pain of her lungs heaving to full her sobs was too great. She owed herself some sort of long-form groveling apology for putting herself through this much so far. Maybe it would have been easier if she'd never fought back.

Anyone could find you like this, and kill you.

Rachael stay still. Slowly the pains ebbed away and uncovered what they had drowned out in tides of adrenaline. More pain. The return of the dull and insistent throb of everywhere behind her eyes. Her pains worked together in harmony. Rachael herself worked to keep the nothing in her stomach down and out of sight.

Eventually she dragged herself up. She was alone, and mutely grateful for that. Nothing else had changed in her surroundings.

... I don't have my supplies anymore.

Somehow that didn't bother her. Rachael cradled her head like it was her own first born, wrapping her forehead in a blanket of a disturbingly clammy forearm. She stumbled for the nearby building's entrance, lame arm swinging pathetically beside. Then she stopped before that yawning maw of an unknown creature buried by concrete into the earth. Foreboding, a sense of profoundly inexplicable concern about what lay beyond the threshold.

A sense far too normalized, it had been her companion from waking. She stepped through, but slowly, silently, eyes darting back and forth and seeing monsters in the outlines poking through the dark corners and hearing them in her footsteps echoing cracks of bone over concrete.

PV3 Prologue Game Unofficial Weapon Claim Thread
Bridie Mossberg - Copy of the Declaration of Independence on wrinkled A4 paper
Edelmira Soriano - A stainless steel, necklace size rosary
Jacqueline Hastert - SIG Sauer P226

Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?
Paris was still staring expectantly, up until the moment blunt metal gun met his cheek. He saw the rapid realignment of Jasmine's form; from towering over him, breathing on him, to being merely the blurred watercolor silhouette in his tumbling horizon.

Paris tried to shout but there was only pain left in his lungs.

He staggered. Like a ragdoll he was unable to correct his fall, rubber bones and squishy skin scattered over ground like free-falling dominoes. Paris hit the ground on his wounded shoulder, and felt the fresh sting of a half-undone bandage now polluted by clumps of dusty earth. Momentum rolled him like a capsizing ship, keeling over until he was flat on his back, His Kingdom mysteriously close above him in the lone cloud lazily drifting through the sky.

Now he groaned.

Paris could have recovered pretty quickly, but he was too shocked. Betrayed.

Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?
Paris felt a weight that sagged over the skin of his temples, a coiled tension probably something like the spring of a gun.

He shrugged, after Jasmine had used up however many precious seconds with her breathing.

"You're being unreasonable," he grumbled faster and louder than intended, through slightly tense lips. He realized his temper and forced himself to relax with a deep sigh. He continued to look right into her eyes, seeing only himself reflected in deep tarry pools. "I did the best I could back then, and I promise you I'll keep doing the best I can now." He firmly articulated his point.

"If you..." The words came slower, his lips silently moving and actual sound only a ghostly echo. "If you have something else to say I think you should get it all out now."

Eventually she'd stop stealing time. They'd move on. It wasn't like one person could be so selfish.

SC2 Theme Music
Nominating Keiji's theme music on Namira's behalf:

take a guess as to which meme i picked

wAtCH thIS giRl gEt SokAiNg wET
writhe struggle it was pointless and there was nothing she could do

Rachael was grounded into ground, her shoulder her first taste of a shallow grave where her corpse would rot. Above her the nightmare specter of a mysterious man's destroyed, bloodied, grinning skull of a face. Thumbs against the delicate overripe exploding skin of her mortal shell impressed onto her the depths of her pathetic mortality. Rachael screamed but hands around her throat became the bindings of the ancient mummies, tight, dry, desiccated, sequestering away her life into wakeless eternity.

Rachael felt surrender in the faltering of her heartbeat. Surrender in the falling away of her broken hand from defense of her remaining vitality. She was already but a walking corpse.


Still, she cried breathlessly for air.

Is it over yet? This story is dragging on.

Wild writhing like the cornered animal she was. Her remaining hand desperately clawing, sculpting flesh and blood like the passerby millennium did canyons, out of Blaine's skin, out of her own. Her faltering hand finding a second wind.

Her lost gun rejoined the fight with a gamble of a swing and a pull of a trigger.

so no one told u life was going to be this way
Hmmmm, yes, I can as a matter of fact.

So in terms of NPC running since I've offered to be kill fodder for people I'm going to be implementing a soft first-come-first-serve queue since I can only actually play one NPC to get them killed at a time. Ideas I agree to first will have priority in terms of me playing them out. I will probably only take on so many concepts, too.

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