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yongenjaya2017-10-16 10:16 pm
scaleless) wrote in yongenjaya2017-10-16 10:16 pm
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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
(Her skin crawls, ink seeping from beneath her fingernails in dark pools, something skittering down her spine and burrowing into her waist. Always a fleeting sensation, a thought or vision—she can’t tell what’s real and isn’t.)
Like the boy just up ahead in the fog, suddenly close enough for her to decipher mussed hair and smudged glasses. (She recognizes him from the ship, at least...) He’s a terribly long way from the others, and she can’t help the frown of concern that clouds her face as she addresses him.
From one lost passenger to another, ]
...It isn’t safe out here. Let’s head back together.
no subject
Today though, it's just the slender form of a woman that comes through the fog. He recognizes her, probably a little more soundly than she might him. He'd spent a good deal of time staring at her from a distance, because that hair was so incredibly vivid that if someone told him that the fairy from Pinnochio had gone and made a bluejay into a real girl, he would have believed them. It looked just plain wrong and yet all too real. Her outfit hadn't helped matters. That had put a creeping blush at the back of his neck and reddened the tips of his ears.
He's too cold and miserable for that kind of shit right now. Richie groans and kicks at the grey mud that had been trying to swallow his shoe.]
Yeah, 'cause the ship's a real trip to the zoo. You've seen those snakes squiggling around the bottom of it? Noooo thank you, milady, no thankies at all. Don't even get me started on the chow.
[Richie reaches for his throat and rolls his eyes back, tongue lolling out in mock death throws.] Bluaaawaaaaach, blawch! Ah say, ah say, if ah-nother spoonful of cuh-reemed cahn touches these lips, I might just fahll to mah knees and beg the good lord Jesus to take me where ah stand!
[It's a spotty ape of Foghorn Leghorn, even if he's aiming for a proper Southern Gentleman over the cartoon chicken. A skill he'd perfect in the next ten to fifteen years, but for now it's the best he can do.]
no subject
Something out there, stirring, watching, waiting—
—She's distracted for a moment by his posturing, and tries to blink away the dark splotches from the corners of her eyes. She sees someone darting into the fog, their name just on the tip of her tongue, and then she sees the jagged outline of a dilapidated castle in the distance. (Neither which should be here. Neither which are.)
And there it is again, that something. She clamps a hand firmly over the boy's mouth to muffle his theatrics, to distraught to be gentle. She usually isn't ever so rough, but she's on edge, traces of the feast still in her gut, mingling with the mist and catalyzing into an uncharacteristic fear. Her voice drops to a whisper, almost harsh. ]
Don't. Can't you hear that?
[ Regardless of his answer, she begins to tug him back towards where they'd docked by one gangly wrist, away from the foreboding presence. It's far away enough that she doesn't urge him into a run just yet (far away enough she probably sounds one or two crazy, in all honesty), but she doesn't stall for his comfort, either.
It does occur to her she might try to explain her actions, though it's as hurried as her steps. ] ...There's worse than snakes out there. Please trust me.
no subject
[By jolly, the lady doth taketh too much a liberty!
Richie squirms under the muzzle she's clasped on him, coming up for air when she deigns to switch to yanking him by the wrist. This gal has been playing too many hours of squash or something: even by the normal ratio of kid to adult force, she's edging closer to the six-foot-five pro footballer end of the scale than she is the stern mom. He's a little in awe of it in fact, and when he checks her bared arms there is a flexing bicep right about eye level.
Damn. Was that allowed?
Her concern is a little overbearring nonetheless. Richie hadn't heard anything. He stumbles after her ("Yeow, not so fast...") and scans side to side. In his professional opinion, she's overreacting.]
Ma'am, I don't know about you but—
[The silence breaks. Softly. Distantly. But the lone howl swelling in the mist gives him a fresh set of gooseflesh, hairs pricked on the back of his neck.
He remembers all right. That snarling creature as it dragged at Bill by the ankles, as it bore down on them on the bike and snagged him by the collar, choking, swatted him so hard up the head he'd bled and drifted dizzily off to gagaland while Bill had to pedal and pedal to keep abreast of the beast.
Suddenly he moves closer to her. Puts a hand on her back to push. His voice grows high and breathy.]
Okay, we gotta go go go, quick. Quick!!
no subject
But even without her power, and with the ominous pressure of a certain terror on their heels, her baseline resolve remains unchanged—she will protect this boy however she can, expend the rest of her strength to see them both to safety. (...But if they can run, she will, and she does.)
She doesn't need any goading, and immediately propels herself into a sprint back towards where she hopes the Charon is. No time for prayer or curses, she keeps her ears trained on the fog behind them, listening for footsteps.
She hears them, surely enough. First a faint patter in the distance, that soon swells into the rumble of of heavy feet against the dead earth. It's fast, gaining speed, guttural breaths deafening in her skull and sending her heartbeat into a frenzy. She doesn't dare look back.
How far away is this creature? How far are they from the ship?
The mist shows no sign of thinning, and at some point the boy's arm is wrenched out of her grip by their uneven pace. She doesn't try to tether him a second time, knowing they can't afford to lose any speed. Her voice is fringed with barely-restrained panic as she calls out to him, ]
Stay close!
no subject
No. No he does not. Somehow doing it alone or doing it with friends his own age had necessitated the kind of courage you only plucked up when you realized no one was coming to save you. The strange woman's presence wasn't a comfort. It was a curse. If he lost her in the fog he doubted there was any hope for him at all.
She hollers to him, and he squawks back—] I'm trying! [—as he bolts after her, knees coming up to nearly smack his elbows in that stupid looking way, the kind of run you'd expect from a cartoon dunce. When he was well and truly spooked with a need for speed, he couldn't help it, and who the fuck was going to see him running stupid anyway? Just get them both da heck outta here!
Richie throws a look back over his shoulder. He can't see what's chasing them yet. But the sounds are bigger, definite steps, and there's no wolf howling or snarls now. That's worse, too, because what if it wasn't the monsters he knew?
The instant that thought slinked into mind was the precise moment his sneaker hooked under the risen root. He had just the right amount of time to turn his head and think Where did this tree come from? before his forehead was lobbed into the trunk.
Richie's body bounces backwards from the hit. He lands with a splatter in the muck between two gnarled creeping limbs, each the width of a grown man's arm. His eyelids flutter.]
That was....jusslike...last..ime..
[The werewolf had nearly concussed him with the hard crack it'd given his head. He'd leaned limply into poor Bill as he tried to keep the bike steady, but he'd teeter-tottered around consciousness until the other boy could slap the sense back in him.
The tree's done the wolf one better. Richie's out like a light. His head tilts left, half his face sinking into the syrupy bog-water. The cut on his forehead lies under the surface, muffling the scent of blood.]
no subject
The thing that followed was unknown to both. If they'd had any inkling what was coming perhaps the woman would have left the boy where he was, playing mindlessly in the grime. The laws were altered now that the Charon was docked at shore, and things could be made to happen to those who didn't deserve them. But one crucial point lingered: there weren't enough years on Richie Tozier to interest any of the creatures around. His previous bouts with the devil gave him permissions, the potential of those scars gave him hints and glimpses. He could perceive threats, but come to no harm by them. Not yet.
The girl on the other hand was damned. The very nature of her womanhood had drawn the demon forward. Her doll-like face, lean frame, and her strength...perfection. Had to have it. Keep it. Cultivate, polish, curate, feed.
The running tread that strikes the mud isn't a pair of human feet. It is many hands. It is many feet. The rhythm taps out more clearly now that it closes in, the illusions of the fog dispersing. Its noise is a rattle of groping bits that strike at the ground in a jumble, and it isn't clear what's happening until the musty silhouette finally appears.
The mannequin is a pin cushion of limbs. Spider-like, all stolen and sealed in plastic, all coveted dearly. Some help it move. Others hold empty heads with wide searching eyes, perfect plastic skulls to spy out their new sister. It holds them aloft now, searching. It could smell her, yes it could, it could taste her prettiness and her pumping heart. It pauses, mere feet from the tree while Richie sleeps.
She was close. A new sister, our new sister!]
no subject
And, she does not make it very far.
A dark shape intercepts her, as horrible as it is quick, carried along by the clatter and clacking of too many sutured arms and legs. It regards her with a curious intensity, an unnatural longing multiplied over its many faces as it slows its advance—as if it recognizes her, as if it savors her very presence.
What's left of Aqua's untainted courage starts to go cold in her veins, but even so she wills her weapon into hand with what little strength she can still muster. (She's alone save for an injured child, and this creature is too much for her to fight without her spells.)
But running isn't an option, and neither is hiding.
She can't even think to cry out for help, her focus constrained to the monstrosity in front of her, burning with an animal-like rage. Desperation that begins to turn into the bitterness of despair, darkness seeping in to swallow her light.
She charges forward with a senseless cry, keeping herself away from the majority of the extraneous limbs as she aims a vicious blow at one of the skulls. (Whittle it away piece by piece, as fast as she can.) Flame sputters from the edge of her key, angry but ultimately weak.
She won't last long in this fog either way. ]