nu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scaleless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
yongenjaya2017-10-16 10:16 pm
scaleless) wrote in yongenjaya2017-10-16 10:16 pm
ʜᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇᴠ
EXITVOID 101
✘ What is Exitvoid?THE SHIP: CHARON
A horror game from approximately a million years ago, which ran in yearly phases, each with a different setting. This meme is based off Beta, set aboard the Charon. It's an easy jamjar premise—you've been kidnapped from your own reality by COMPASS, a company with unambiguously villainous intent, with no foreseeable way home—so don't sweat the details if you weren't around for the original run.
✘ What is the Charon?
The enormous, rusting cruiser the game was set aboard, which is constantly voyaging across an endless sea with no foreseeable destination. The only food available is canned, creamed corn.
✘ What is a docking event?
The ship would regularly dock at different worlds based on various canons, often a mish-mash of all the entries in a franchise (e.g. Silent Hill's docking event was not based off any one game, instead borrowing from across the board).
✘ Why didn't you include [this other event I really liked]?
It's a meme, wildcard it! Here is the old write-up tag. My personal recs are Pan's Labyrinth, Jurassic Park, and to come off the tails of It, Stephen King world.
✘ Anything else?
Warn appropriately, and be respectful of people's permissions posts, comfort levels, etc. Also, please put "Hauntings Okay" in your subject line if you're fine with someone dropping in with a surprise! I probably won't for most threads, but :U you never know.
✘ Is EV coming back? Why is this happening? Do I have to have played in the game to be here? Is this restricted to anybody?
No, this is just for fun! It's October and I'm feeling nostalgic. It's a meme, so do whatever you want with whoever you'd like. For the record, you don't have to know me to play, and feel free to share with friends. Happy Halloween!
✘ CONTENT WARNING: The Food prompt contains body horror and insects.
The VoidDOCKING EVENT: SILENT HILL
✘ Full Write-Up
The Charon begins its venture into the void, and nothing about it is meant to support life. Especially the air: breathing and traversing the acidic mist swirling inside the ship only causes a tingling irritation at first, then an itch, then peeling and coughing—soon, characters are left to deal with full-on chemical burns, with only a few syringes with cures and bandages between them.
Though for once, it seems like food and alcohol are plentiful.
FEAST OR FAMINE
✘ Full Write-Ups: Drink and Food
I. In the void (see prompt above), alcohol is tainted—anyone who drinks it will have a drug in their system that increases aggression and paranoia. Rather than change their personalities outright, this drug exacerbates whatever violent tendencies they have, urging on their fears and insecurities to take out on those around them. For those trapped in the acid air, it's only a matter of time before someone snaps.
Non-alcoholic drinks will turn to blood as soon as they pass a character's lips.
II. Another day, it's the food that causes problems. After months of subsisting off only canned, creamed vegetables, characters will be invited to the Captain's feast. Of course, it comes with a hefty price tag; that squash salad you had? It must've been infested with something, because now there's something crawling under your skin—literally. Black wasps will find homes inside these feast-goers, buzzing all the while. Or maybe you had the poached prawns, and now your skin's turning transluscent, hair and nails going loose? The possibilities for side effects are as endless as the number of dishes.
Those that do not attend the feast will find that food turns to ash in their mouths.
THE HOLDS
✘ Full Write-Up
The power grid is down, and characters must find replacement pieces in the dark cargo holds of the ship before it sinks. Every other person is equipped with a strange lantern. Be warned: when the internal battery dies, it will only remain lit in someone's hands, slowly leeching their strength.
And you'll need them, because dark snakes slither about the lower, waterlogged decks; these serpentine, skeletal creatures are invulnerable in the darkness and lightning quick, grabbing victims with their enormous claws. Captured prey is bathed in the snakes' bioluminescence, lulling them into a sense of warmth and security as their body heat and life force is drained out of them, leaving them frozen husks.
Hitting the snakes with a beam of light will force them to release their targets; this is also the only way to get any hits in, so don't go out there alone.
Full write-up here.
✘ CONTENT WARNING: Silent Hill contains body horror, violence, gore, mentions of sexual and physical abuse, and generally graphic content. Everything below is tame, but be warned when exploring Wikis, etc.
FOG WORLD
The town of Silent Hill is filled with an oppressive fog, muting sight and sound, lending to a feeling of alienation and quiet. But that doesn't mean you're alone—lurking in the fog and dilapidated buildings are monsters of all shapes and sizes.
Compasses (the network device) will let out a static noise when any monsters are in the vicinity, but don't let it give away where you're hiding. Sometimes, it's wiser to run.
Here were some of our monster picks, though of course you can go wild with it. Make up your own if you want!
OTHERWORLD
Sometimes, a siren will blare in the distance, and the world around you will start to peel apart, like paint off rust, revealing a completely different dimension. This Otherworld is a parallel universe, specifically tailored to a character's fears and unabsolved sins—in short, a personalized hellscape. The area will still bear distinct similarities to the real world, but spaces that were safe before can be distorted beyond recognition, or filled with new dangers. Otherworlds can also force characters to confront their wants, desires, and regrets—Silent Hill unearths and materializes aspects of themselves they want to leave buried or refuse to acknowledge.
Characters can be sucked into and escape Otherworlds together, or exit one only to enter another. Choose your company carefully, though—those that feel no remorse or guilt over their pasts may just become monsters in the Otherworld themselves.
SILENT HILLS (2017)
While most of Silent Hill is falling apart with age, unkempt and uncared for, amidst it all is one strangely pristine home. But once characters enter this suburban refuge, they'll notice something's off—no matter what corner they turn, the space looks familiar, looping in on itself endlessly. The house grows more and more menacing with each repetition—the lights turn red. Photo frames are turned down on their faces, a flight of stairs appears with someone at the top. A figure lies beyond a window that can't be cracked, looking in. A pervasive feeling of being followed clings to everyone here—and what's that waiting at the end of the hall?
Recommended viewing: Silent Hills Playable Demo.
EXPLORE THE TOWN
If you need some more inspiration, try the map (click rooms on the image to explore).
no subject
I didn't order this yaoi funhouse mirror
no subject
no subject
give me a prompt pref or two and we'll actually do this, bring it on
no subject
so maybe a silent hill would be appropriate... or like, bumming cigarettes/not murderbooze off each other trying to stave off void or body horror misery or smth simple...
no subject
I don't have a body horror thread yet so I'm in for either, maybe I can mash it all together somehow. grits teeth and self medicates suffering in SH between sirens ig. we'll see what I come up with, rolls up sleeves
no subject
smh
(There was a HOLE here, one window advises, helpfully. It's gone now.
Great. Super.)
But through the whiteness of the air beside the window—neon light. Flickering and pale. The sign reads Neely's Bar. Not quite what he was looking for, but it'll do.
If Robert has holed himself up at the bar, the door opens this time to divulge another living soul from the ship—some punk kid barely old enough to set foot inside the bar at all, if this were a more civilized time or place. (Hah.) He walks painfully, breathes shallowly, like there's something wrong in his chest. (The air burns like smoke, tastes like wet earth.) He is bruised, though it looks strangely old. More importantly he is bleeding, slowly but freshly, from a bite by his collar.
He seems to pay the bar's only occupant exactly zero mind, choosing instead to shoulder past Robert at the bar and shrug awkwardly out of his leather jacket. He snatches up most of a bottle of warming but not inexpensive vodka. Grins, sharp and sardonic—]
За здоровье.
[—and says something bright and biting in Russian that the Compass may roughly translate to cheers, before he pours a healthy portion out onto the seeping (now stinging) wound on his neck.]
no subject
[ The little dive is scarcely lit, and Robert was more than content to keep it that way, deter as many guests as possible while he licked his wounds. As good a place as any; better than most, really, with the shaking in his hands refusing to subside along with the rest of his pain and panic. He'd nursed a bottle of whiskey along with the gouges in his fingers and palms, his arms, his chest... Warmed him to a therapeutic buzz and eased all the throbbing aches for better dealing with what looked and felt like a hug from a lawnmower. Well, on the bright side, he'll have a couple more good scars to spin stories out of... Not that everyone else doesn't around here. ]
[ By the time the door deigns to open and let the fog carry in another warm-ish body, Robert is tucked (relatively) comfortably against the bar, and scarcely glances around long enough to make sure it isn't another one of the town's creatures creeping in to join him before he turns stiffly forward once more. If his new pal is content to leave a mutual silence between them, more power to them. He does pick up his gaze once the boy—rough and tall-statured, but definitely a child with a drinking permit from at least some country—rounds the bar, and his brow knits with a touch of sympathy at the ginger, beaten, way he carries himself. But through the blood and bruises, he's got a firm sense of purpose in his movements, and enough gumption left to shoot him a grin... So for now, the older man doesn't worry himself terribly upright to return it. ]
За здоровье, [ he mimics, with convincing authenticity, tipping the boy a toast with his own bottle. ] Thought you of all people would know it works better when you drink it.
[ The hand free of drink reaches for the small first aid kit sitting on the chair beside him, beneath his crumpled leather jacket, and tosses it over the bar in Jason's direction. From the mix of gauze and paper napkin staunching his own bleeding, it's fairly obvious that the already meager kit's been gutted of most everything save for all the medical tape and antiseptic, but it's something. Not that he's entirely without concern, but you know. Kid just cracked a fifth of vodka over a gaping flesh wound. Coddling isn't quite the go-to instinct here. ]
no subject
He's braced himself against the counter and bowed his head while he breathes his way through it. Leaning against the bar with his hands drawn into fists and his shoulders gone rigid. Answers in a slightly hoarse kind of way, but his obnoxiously aggressive goodwill doesn't seem to have suffered for it.]
If I knew we were having a party, old man, I would've ordered a pizza.
[The room's stopped spinning and the fire in his collar's eased back enough to take the blur out of his vision, so he lifts his head enough to frown over where the first aid kit has landed. Pushes himself up to fish for what's left inside. (Not much. But needs must.)
He does, however, finally steal a proper glance back up at his company before getting back to it. As if this needs any real consideration—]
Think they'll still deliver? I'm really feeling a Gotham gutbomb right about now.
no subject
[ Once the worst of it seems to be past, he leaves the grin in place, albeit sobered slightly. Exactly in the way he's striving not to be, with the way he raises his eyebrows and tilts that old toast back toward him to knock down a generous swig of his whiskey. Ah, youth, needing the excuse of a party to drink. Drinks make their own parties. Sometimes it's a party of one, but them's the breaks. ]
They do, [ he nods, smile fading sagely. ] But the delivery boy's got eight arms. That's thirty-two claws. Eight hands, and no thumbs. Tries to take one of your arms for a tip, too—probably wants the thumbs. How d'you think I got this?
[ He gestures a little tenderly with his left arm, sporting the worst of his wears. There's a mess of gauze and improv cloth folded and taped just above his elbow, almost thoroughly bled through, though it doesn't look totally wet any longer. As if something sharp had attempted to latch on and twist it off. Hadn't succeeded, obviously, but it sure doesn't look as if it bends quite right these days. ]
And the pizza in this town? Ain't worth the trouble by a long shot.
[ At least, he's reasonably sure it wouldn't be, if it even existed, now or ever. This is an imaginary pizza he's eaten, after all. If it held a candle to Pete's, he'd brave the streets again and go pick one up himself. Anyway, from the sound of it, the kid shares an affinity for his own horrible local pizza specialties. And leather jackets. Good kid. He can stay. ]
no subject
Which gives him time to take in the the chewed-up look of his company and the drying blood on the nasty-looking wound on Robert's arm. He exhales sharp through his nose at the bullshit that accompanies it—and it is, clearly, bullshit—but he also gives it an obliging ear.
We all have our coping mechanisms. Some people drink, some people go looking for brutal vigilante justice to enact, some people make gallows humor jokes about that one time they almost died... (Or, y'know, that one time they did.) Done counting down, he wrings out the dishrag to dry it out as best he can. Puts an enormous amount of stubborn willpower into keeping his hands steady while he does, because the sight of the shaking at the fingertips only seems to infuriate him. He grinds his teeth, but fires back. Bad-day banter is an important part of the vigilante toolkit.]
After the creamed corn detox, I think I'd still take those odds.
[But maybe...not right now. He's staying, for a while, whether Robert approves of him or not. Maybe especially if not. (It's caution as much as comfort. Maybe more the former than the latter. What with the rattling his chain this place has been pulling, he's already feeling a little claustrophobic in here. The dimness feels like darkness, and the low ceiling starts to feel too low, and the taste of wet earth still in his teeth turns his stomach. But he swallows it, because he needs to regroup, and Robert's the first friendly face he's seen in hours.)
So. Maybe a rain check on the monster mash. Magnanimously—]
If you're looking for another sword to fall on, I'm pretty partial to chili dogs.
[Do they deliver those, who knows.]