snowblindrpg | [log] Event: Howl [open]

[For once, Alfie doesn't start out by immediately looking for his group. He worries about them, and he hopes that they're okay, but he has something more important to focus on now - something that will help them in the long run, if he can just get it done. That has to take priority.

Mostly, he'll ignore his fellow Andromedans. If he spots one that he's particularly close to, he'll head over for a quick conversation, but move on once he's satisfied that they're all right. Prophets, however, are a different story. If he likes or is neutral towards them, he's gentle in a way that most here haven't seen. He approaches them slowly, reassuring them that he isn't going to hurt them; that he wants to help them. If he dislikes them, he's more curt and businesslike, but he'll still cooperate just as much. Personal feuds and disagreements can be settled later. This is bigger than that. This is bigger than everything.]

Hello?

[ It's impeccably stupid to cry out in this kind of situation, but Rhys sure loves to stick his foot in his mouth. Brain/mouth filter, why must you fail him so often.

He seems to realize that immediately and bites his lip. He so very, very much wishes that he had his Trusty Frying Pan, at the very least. Or Dumpy. Rhys has been in too many life or death situations to count, yet something about this... he's rattled to the core.

Follow the dots. The less scary dots. That's all he's gotta do. That, and keep himself from falling apart, or, uh. Falling to his death. If he encounters someone friendly, someone who can help, he'll cling to them like a noodly parasite. If they're someone or something less friendly... ... ...at least he has long legs. ]

Edited 2017-02-20 17:27 (UTC)

[Ecks knows what must be done. She must take the light from the maws of monsters, but they and the lights that are people are all that she can see in the unending blackness, and her first efforts to find her own way resulted in a painful fall.

When she is alone, she typically stands in place, waiting, a hand on whatever surface she can find to steady herself. The blue ones will help her if only they can find her. When one comes close she'll raise her monotone voice to catch their attention (why do they not always see her when she can see them?). When a beast or a red dot starts to come her way, though, she'll stare at it a while, watching its meandering path, before she begins to stumble away from it, feeling her way as carefully as she can, unable to move with any meaningful speed without walking into another unseen danger.]

[He's done nothing but fail since he got here and people are dying, have died, because of his uselessness -- but Stephen knows how to fix it now. The Escher painting they all inhabit evokes memories of the mirror dimension, but he's not so afraid now.

He needs help, though. Stephen is friendly enough in his greetings when he spots another sighted person, but it's when he sees one of the blinded that he'll speak reassurances and hurry to their side. He doesn't recognize any of them, but the work is more important than to finding his own friends. His is the vague, moderately reassuring smile of a man trying to work out whether he knows someone as he approaches them.]

[ Anyone who's seen Gabriel Gray in the past will find here instead someone who finally looks like he belongs in Norfinbury. He's dirty, too skinny, pale, and limping along as he puts his full weight on any wall he can find. He still winces occasionally, something that increases in duration and severity as the night wears on. Stairs are completely out of the question.

And he clearly can't see much of anything. Just ugly monsters and dangerous people, and the occasional blue of someone safe. He does his best to shuffle towards those blue lights- he knows he doesn't stand much of a chance if anyone else catches up to him.

His left foot catches in the corner, where the wall meets the floor. The foot twists nearly imperceptibly, and Sylar groans deeply, having to stop for a moment to catch his breath. ]

[ He's blind. That's the first thing he realizes. Only, not quite - he can still see the dots of blue and red. The beacons of light. Those are the only things he knows, and he doesn't trust the sense he gets from any of them. Something else is telling him that blue is safe, red is not, and that the monsters must be hunted, and he refuses to take it at face value.

But it is all he has to go on. So he goes right for any light he can see, red, blue or not. At first. His first encounter of the night doesn't go well, and after that, he actively avoids every light he sees.

But that won't last forever. Especially when he can't navigate this awful fucking hallway. It twists and turns, and he can't keep his footing.

And even if he makes it through that, there's so much more to try and navigate while blind. A room full of water, falling up, that makes Royce feel seasick as he crawls his way across the thin, narrow pathway. A room that's oppressive and stuffy, that when Royce puts his hand on the wall to steady himself it feels like the building itself is sweating, condensation sliding down the peeling plaster and paint. He's pretty sure he walks upside down at some point, feet glued to the floor or the ceiling, his hood and cloak hanging off of him.

And all the while, he's avoiding the lights. Especially the monsters, though it's almost impossible in some rooms. ]

[ For Zack ]

[ She didn't mean to get so close to another prophet. She knew it was a bad idea, though she couldn't be sure how, exactly. It was just really fucking hard to get anywhere when she can't see anything to support herself with and has to hop around on one leg.

But something has come near, and she can feel it like a shift in the weather. Where is she? Where is the Prophet? There, behind her- she turns, wobbling, in the right direction.

She doesn't speak. The Prophet will be wary, she knows. It is, however, really difficult to be sneaky when you're hopping on one foot. ]

[ OPEN ]

[ Steph is not at all sure why she started attacking Zack. Probably it has something to do with all of this Prophet nonsense, but she managed to bump her broken leg pretty badly in the process and is now on her back, in her right mind, and in too much pain to worry about sorting things through.

If another prophet comes by, she's pretty much screwed. For anyone else though? ]

I hate everything.

The Cat moves as naturally through this strange space as though he were born in it. In fact, that's partly true - the world of stars is a very strange one by mortal reckoning.

He misses it, and he isn't sure why. He misses the mortal realms, too, and all of the thousands of lives he has loved. He senses that this sadness isn't truly his sadness, but he has more than enough of his own stowed away. It hardly makes any difference.

He seeks out the Prophets with singleminded determination. The monsters are a concern, but only a passing one for now. He is too quick for them, he imagines. He is too quick for most things.

[ It's a simple fact that angels don't dream. How could they? They don't sleep, they don't have souls. Even here, made into something almost like human, Castiel has spent his periods of unconsciousness in unmemorable nothingness.

It's for this reason, and others, that he doesn't question it when he wakes up somewhere else entirely, with a sense of purpose that he hasn't felt since before his fall. Orders, a solid objective, not conjecture based on what might best serve his usual directives. In many ways it's a relief, being freed from the confusion and uncertainty of being so totally cut off from Heaven. He has questions of course - for what purpose does he need these glowing lights, what plane is this, why did they lose him for so many days only to call him back now? But in his desperation for some semblance of structure he all but jumps at the opportunity.

Not literally, though. His footing is unsure. This would be easier if his senses were not even further addled from how they were in that strange town. Castiel looks around slowly, turning in place, craning his neck and squinting at the space around him. He sees bright lights - some distant, some close, that he needs to gather, or seek help from, or avoid - but nothing else. As if only being able to see direct line of sight from the front of his vessel's skull hadn't been bad enough. It's disorienting; enough so that he may not notice any who happen to approach him while he surveys the situation.]

[ This is immediately the worst, as he realizes the moment he wakes up. ]
[ There's something about it-- the atmosphere, the feeling, all new and unsettling. Everything is...off in a way he can't quite describe, and the idea of it grates on him. Things aren't right, that much is clear, but what can he do about it? Standing around and waiting for something to creep up on him wasn't the answer, that much was for sure. ]
[ He'd talked the talk and claimed he could help. Push had come to shove, it seemed, and it was time to see if he'd been bluffing after all. Vasquez wasn't going to sit back and watch the rest of this mess to play out-- something had to be done, and now was as good of a time as any to do it. The alternative was inaction, and that was unacceptable. ]

[ By now, he's been wandering for a while, and his patience is running even thinner than usual. All these corridors look the same, and Vasquez has made enough turns down supposedly new routes only to find that the scenery definitely didn't change. He's roughly two seconds from trying to kick the wall down, although he got the feeling that wasn't going to do much of anything. He's still considering it, but the final nail in the coffin for tossing that plan was the potential damage to his shoes. Those were expensive, dammit, and there was a distinct lack of replacements here in Norfinbury-- that, and any he did manage to find wouldn't be anywhere near as stylish. ]
[ Footwear concerns aside, for the time being, Vasquez has decided to try and investigate his surroundings a little. There's nothing that's standing out to him immediately, but he's at least hoping for something to give him a clue. Somebody hasn't gotten the memo in regards to staying quiet, though-- he's cursing plenty as he prowls up and down the hallway, albeit under his breath. He's got the vaguest idea of what he's supposed to find, but it isn't here, and the leads he's looking for aren't presenting themselves. He sticks his head around another corner, trying to see what's ahead-- more of the same, as it turns out. ]

Shit.
[ There's that kick to the wall, but it's more of a light scuff than the outright punt he'd been tempted to do earlier. He cringes almost immediately after. ]

[They may be blind, but they can still see the things that matter. The points of light, promising danger and safety. And the... the things. Not monsters, never monsters, because monsters mean light and warmth and safety and love, not the creeping horrors that watch and watch and watch. Like the thing that chased them, the eye planted on the back of their head as they ran with stars at their feet.

Just watching. Always watching.

The lights have to be taken. That's how they fix this. How they can help. How they can do something after weeks of drifting through the snowy hellscape of Norfinbury.

Frisk is scared, but when has that ever stopped them?

One by one, they take tentative step after tentative step, feet and hands questing outwards, resting against whatever surface they can find, as long as it's still there. They can't see; they know nothing of how this place twists and turns and shifts and rolls.

So long as they can though, they'll keep getting up when they fall. Keep searching for a path when they find themselves boxed in a corner. And always, always, they have their eye fixed on their goal - a bright shining star that must be taken and kept safe.

You can help them, maybe.]

[His best friend is dead, and he's probably not coming back. That much Charles knows for sure. But what he also knows is that he has to find a way to fix it. Fix this, all of this. He has to hunt, he wants to hunt, wants to make something pay for what's happened. And for that he needs a partner.

It isn't too difficult for him to slip into this Andromeda mindset, because at the moment, it closely mirrors his own. The determination is difficult to muster, but he does. He's never been one to sit idle for long.

Others will find Charles in motion, searching for a Prophet to aid in the hunt. He will mostly ignore other Andromedas, unless he knows them, and will actively intervene if he sees any Prophets being attacked by cultists. He's on a mission, and it's clear in every movement.

He has to fix this. He has to hunt.]

[This is much more familiar to him than what's been happening recently. This is a mission with a target, clear and simple. The backdrop is irrelevant, the fact that the targets are literal monsters removes the ethical dilemma of wanting to fight, and he feels a little more secure in who he is.

There's just one problem, he can't see the monsters, and he can't find a prophet to help him in the hunt.

If he spots a prophet anywhere, he'll be running to their side in an instant, every inch the strong and silent bodyguard.]

[Zidane has always known that his senses can be relied upon. As a thief he is always aware, as an actor he is always observant. When the world feels upside down his instinct can carry him through.

Being robbed of his sight now he feels lost.

He creeps forward, sometimes dropping into defensive crouches, tail lashing in worry as his eyes stare forward, focused on the flickers of light that dance and in and out of his field of vision.]

Edited 2017-02-21 18:08 (UTC)

{ Scenario A }

[ Blindness shouldn't be digging at him as much as it has the moment he'd awoken... wherever he did. Another maze? Or is he underground like the others had been before? He tries to figure it out not long after calling for his friends and fellow travelers of his group without luck of finding them. But whatever he touches feels different and it's bizarre. Soft, moth-eaten fabric. Cold stone walls. Then suddenly smooth and warm as if almost alive- even a bit scaly and then all of a sudden open air. Open warm air. Then two steps into the shadow of somewhere else and it's suddenly smells of antiseptic with his footsteps echoing and he pulls away. Finds another way. This one might feel as cold as Norfinbury always feels, but he'll take it.

The only constant is the fear that laces through his veins as he keeps moving forward, body slightly hunched and coiled-ready with a hand reaching forward. Forward, forward, forward. There are blue lights ahead that feel like they're calling out to him, a little hymn of safety in the dark. But they don't erase the feeling that someone or something's watching his every move. His every. Single. Mo- ]

Whoa!

[ So caught up feeling ahead, Zack doesn't notice the opening until he's suddenly falling below and- landing on someone hard with a gruff groan. ]

{ Scenario B }

[ So many lights every which way. Red ones and blue ones. Usually, he would be cautious of them all, but for some reason the blue ones call to him. Enough that he goes and follows along the first one. It's hard to keep his pace to find them. He's banged his knee pretty good on something he could have sworn wasn't there and there's another drop he almost didn't catch, but he's making better time than he was for someone blind to the world around him.

Or at least blind to everything but something large and overbearing that he can see as soon as he turns what he presumes to be a corner. Something that almost oddly resembles a Malboro but it has far more many eyes. Almost all its tentacles are covered with them and eyes follow up to the tip of their stalks, too. But one thing that definitely hasn't changed is that humongous mouth with its pointy teeth and while Zack takes a step back at first, feeling incredulous at the sight, it doesn't take long for him to take in the blue light not far off. Or the way the creature slithers and slides across the floor towards them unknowingly. And that's when Zack hurries forward in warning. ]

Behind you!

{ Scenario C }

(Not feeling the other two? Bring your own starter if you'd like! )

[Davesprite's not sure whether to view it as luck or misfortune when he wakes into a world like an M.C. Escher drawing with even less structural integrity. Maybe if he and some other strange artist had an architecture baby. Like Cubism, the blocks and shapes essay the form of a room, but they hardly match the angles he's used to. Euclid would be having fits.]

[But no, the conflict comes in the debate: is it better that this is happening now that he has his memories back, or is it that much of a pain to have to deal with it so soon after their return? He feels tired, sore still with what his returned memories have impressed upon his emotions, and now additionally burdened with the task of Andromeda. With the dead friends he's missing, it's hard to tell where his grief ends and hers begins.]

[But the rest pushes him. Find the Prophet, help them, and gain their help in turn to seek the light from the invisible monsters that roam this place. He's going to have to be quick and careful if he's not to be caught on the way, and the lack of any ability to tell where these monsters are prickles uncomfortably at the back of his mind.]

[He pushes forth into the environment. It carries him strange ways. He finds himself sliding down a wall that slopes and curves despite looking flat. He climbs staircases comprised of misshapen steps that hang inverted from what should be the ceiling, held on by gravity but feeling certain he will fall until he makes it into the next room. He finds somewhere that looks like the floor has been extruded up into twisting, tangled noodles, and floats along the surface of one until the gravity shifts, pulling him to land against another in the loose knot. There's even one space he passes through that looks almost normal, if not for how anyone in it stands at a 45 degree angle to the floor.]

[Wherever he goes, he keeps his eyes peeled and his ears open as he makes what haste he can. Whoever he sees, Prophet or fellow Andromeda, is greeted by calling over to them:]

Hey! Do you need help?

[He knows the Prophet does, but anyone here could.]

[ As Zell had said, and which she already knew, Sheena's legs and feet knew exactly how to move. Without her sight and thanks to still suffering her Death Penalty of not being able to physically feel, however, she was unable to tell if she walked on something she shouldn't have, hurting herself.

And she only knew if she walked into something by the sudden realization that the other lights and monsters were no longer getting closer until she started moving again in a different direction.

This time, however, it isn't something, but someone she runs into--someone represented by a blue light in her vision and she knows she's safe.

She just has no clue who it is. ]

Hello? Sorry about that. [ A beat. ] Can you help me?

[ And she sounds more frustrated than fearful at this point. ]

[Sherlock hates being blind, hates it.

He can still deduce a lot about his current surroundings using his other senses, but he still feels vulnerable as though a huge part of what makes him special has been stripped away. It makes his movements jerkier and more hesitant as he seeks out the pinpricks of light that are his only company in the darkness.

Suddenly he spots one of the beasts and tries to dash off in pursuit, only for an unseen step to trip him up and send him sprawling. Damn it all, why doesn't he have anyone to assist?!]

[Al is probably one of the more visible prophets, considering he's an absolutely massive suit of armour and his clanking footsteps can be heard from a good distance away. Unfortunately, he's not being very careful even though he's blind, because he keeps seeing monsters and he knows they have to be destroyed in order to protect everyone else.

It's something he can finally do, a way he can finally be useful.

Which is why he can be seen literally flat out sprinting into obstacles, occasionally calling out.]

Hello? Is anyone there?

[Surely he isn't here alone.]

[ posting a few starters under here but feel free to bring your own! ]

Edited 2017-02-23 08:34 (UTC)

[The Joker roams the illogical halls with a small sigh. Upside down stairwells, walls that rotate in ways that defy basic geometry...

It's the stuff of dreams.

His dreams.

Surely, this is another dream.

At least, he thinks, he is not drowning in this one.]

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Rhys - Prophet

Ecks - Prophet

Stephen Strange - Andromeda

House - Andromeda