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Settings listed by entry. Canon is Forest of Drizzling Rain.

[A: a village in the middle of nowhere, Japan]
[For whatever reason, you're in Azaka Village, a peaceful place with a large museum devoted to its history that nobody ever seems to go to. And for whatever reason - curiosity, losing track of time, an inability to play by the rules - you're exploring the museum after closing hours.

It doesn't take long before you realize that there is somebody in the museum with you, and now you're face to face with him. A man in all black, with a bright, gleaming sword has cornered you in one of the rooms. He advances upon you, holding the sword with one hand and with the other...

...pulling out a paper memo and pushing it in your face.]

The museum is closed

[B: slice of life jamjar]
[You've been sorted into a family with this guy who communicates with you largely by post-it notes and organizes and cleans things as a hobby. Since he's university age, he's been sorted as the father of the household.

So, as the father, he's going to try to fulfill his duties and cook something.

You wake up to the smell of burnt something. It's not clear what it was that was burnt, even if you go have a look at him glowering at the stove. There was food, and then it burnt beyond recognition.]

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setting: the beach when it's too cold for that

[Matthew feels hollow in a way he always is whenever he's out of reach of a city. The countryside has it's own power, but it's one he doesn't recognise and out here he can't feel his heart beat in time with the traffic or walk in time with the natural rhythms of city life. All things considered, the beach isn't high up on his list of places to visit.

But it is theirs. They're curious about everything and want to experience things first hand. It's a risk to be away from their source of power, but they so wanted to know. Precautions were set up of course. A few Aldermen were standing around close enough to see him, but far enough that it wasn't immediately obvious they were here with him and if it came down to it, the angels could burn what his sorcery couldn't.

It's a cold gloomy day and he almost looks like someone who woke up hungover on the beach if not for the way he's running around in bare feet, enjoying the feeling of sand between his toes.]

If we could we would spend all day here. So why is it so empty here?

setting: some weirdass fantasy place with dragons and shit

...What poor excuses for men, leaving me to go hunt down that dragon...

[As much as Kai tries to convince other people (and apparently herself?!) that she's not cut out for this whole 'JRPG Questing' business, the sword-whip she's holding does look mighty sharp. Not to mention threatening, now that she's trotting towards you with it in hand.

Kai's choice of clothing and done-up hair certainly makes her look like she doesn't suit a job that basically entails 'hunt down and stab a ~~bitch~~ dragon'... except for her face. She doesn't have the happiest expression right now, and is almost glaring... quite a fitting face for a warrior.

Or a growling bear. Either could work.]

Oi. [oh god she's talking to you] You look like you're free! Interested in chasing down a dragon?

It's been too long since something interesting happened, after all.

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setting: modern city

[She'd outpaced her contingent when she'd run after the red-and-yellow monsters who'd been terrorizing this part of town. Not only had the monsters been attacking people, but they'd been stealing people's juice. How monstrous.]

[She's surrounded now, though.]

I won't be defeated easily....

19th century shenanigans

The party is bustling, the rich brushing shoulders with the rich or possibly the not quite as rich. Class is everything to the people in the room. It was something to hold close to your heart. A station in life. Part of your identity. Even if you don't want to admit it. The woman wear expensive gloves and the men dressed in finest tuxes they could afford. Suits expensive enough to feed a family of ten to a few beggars on the streets. The fires are low and the wine glasses are full. The room is simply busy with life. Conversation flows and pluses like a living creature, the house wives trade stories about sordid love affairs and gossip about each other even as they charm and smile at the subject of the gossip across the room.

Dorian is outside that noise. Something present yet removed from the party and the people around him. A few people glance his way but he ignores them for once. The young looking man hovering on the spot as the noise washes of them. Of the life passing him by.

His eyes locked to the person in the center of the room. Dorian couldn't pull his eyes away even if he wanted too. There was something about them. Something in the air around them. Those dark eyes drop down to move from the persons ankles all the way up to meet the others eyes.

He's captivated. For the moment.

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rating: pg-13

Setting: Aboard the Flying Pussyfoot (cw: potential violence and bloodshed)

It had been a pretty perfect plan in Ladd Russo's mind. Hijack the trans-continental train, The Flying Pussyfoot and threaten to crash it straight into the middle of manhatten unless his demands were met. Of course, obviously some people would have to die in the process as a means to the end. He was perfectly okay with that. Maybe he'd even follow through with the threat and crash the whole train, that'd make for an interesting killing spree, right?

But of course someone had to step in and ruin the fun. Those black suits... and the other little group galavanting around the train, they'd get what's coming to them soon enough of course.

So, Ladd Russo walked though the train, alone and unafraid. The others had gone to look after Lua for him. Truthfully, he was looking for danger, literally anyone that looked like they would try and fight him. The bloodlust right now was insatiable, and he could feel his hand tightening around his shotgun at the thought of putting some unsuspecting person down while they least expected it.

"C'mon, throw something at me..." He muttered under his breath, one of his usual, slasher grins painted on his face. "What I need right now is some excitement!"

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Setting: An enchanted forest

[This forest is lovely, dark and deep, with pale blossoms and little floating lights peeking from dark shadows, a mist filling the air, and a general sense of mystery and magic pervading the entire place.

And if there's one thing the duskwight, cave-raised Drividot hates, it's magical forests.]

Damnable trees... [he mutters, struggling to bend aside shrubbery without getting slapped in the face with a bent branch.] I suppose that I can't just take an axe to them, otherwise I'll have sylphs or elementals or wailers or gods-know-what after my arse...

[And he freezes when he hears a branch snap that he had nothing to do with. Now what?]

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setting: smithsonian (post ca: tws, potential spoilers)

She didn't know her feet took her here: there were so many people that could easily pick her out. If she's not careful. She stared up at the information board for what feels like the millionth time.

Jane Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

Childhood friends with Captain America. You just met. You will kill.

That was her face staring back. She was laughing with someone, familiar.

But I knew--

You know nothing!

She flinched and hunched in on herself.

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setting: enchanted forest

A.

Well, wasn't this a dead forest. The undergrowth crackled under her feet as if something had been through here, leeching the life out of the ground. Didn't even have the courtesy to leave her an easy trail to follow, leaving such a huge radius withered like this. Cautious of anything that might spring out at her, Jabi took a step to the right, then another.

If she had to continue like this the entire way, she'd never get anywhere. She looked at the tree next to her, gauging its sturdiness, and then jumped into it. She continued up until she could get a good view around for at least a hundred meters. "Looks like it was in a hurry, to come this far in only a few hours."

It hadn't gone yet, but the question, and her task: where was it?

B.

[She's found a lantern in this empty wooden shack, and has tied it to the rafters, where it sways, creating shadows that loom. Heedless, she goes around the small boxy building, sticking red paper charms onto the walls.]

We'll be okay here for the night.

C.

[Something else?]

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A bar on any planet. only cut warning would be for tng relaunch/pocket spoilers probably

( action )

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Setting: An Enchanted Forest

Help me! Help me!

[This particular cry does not come from the white-haired girl wandering through the forest, but from a nearby apple tree. Mytho does not appear to be particularly disturbed by the voice, and she turns to look placidly at the tree.]

What's wrong?

[The tree heaves a great sigh.]

My apples, one and all, are so very ripe! Won't someone shake me?

[Mytho barely considers this before saying:] Okay.

[Without another word, Mytho reaches up and begins to shake the branches with a surprising amount of strength, considering her petite size. Apples are now raining down on all and sundry.]

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Setting: Antique Store

As much as Lara loved to skim through auction houses and see what was available online that piqued her interest or was something that could lead to a greater adventure, there was also something to be said for those small hole-in-the-wall antique stores. Not the big garish ones that boasted of Queen Anne chairs or apothecary tables. No, Lara preferred the ones whose windows were dusty enough that you had to enter the store if you wanted to see what it held. They generally had things that had been lost to the ages, manned by someone who might be considered an antique themselves. The dingier the store, the better the treasure they held.

Not to say that a majority of what collected dust on the shelves wasn't junk or very good knock offs, but once in a while, she found something that had the collector and adventurer in her soaring, something that made her pulse jump when she saw it and inevitably reached for it.

She was hoping for just such a find as she stepped through the door of one such store she'd spied, the bell jangling like a broken chime above her as she stepped in. She had to pause at the door for her eyes to adjust to the gloom inside, but she was hoping that this little deviation would be worthwhile.

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setting: space station

Her footsteps were being intrusively loud. Of course, she was wearing heels, but she hadn't quite expected to end up here when she'd gotten up in the morning. But that was assuming this was the same day. Her watch had stopped, her lips were dry, her nails had outgrown the clear coating of polish. Her teacher's garb—button-up blouse, gray jacket and skirt—seemed out of place, even though she didn't know what "in place" would be. Orange jumpsuits, perhaps, but that didn't seem right, either. The gravity was on, and the place was larger than she would have expected. But still, she got the impression she was in space.

What was she doing here? It was no use digging up the last thing she remembered—from what she remembered, she should be dead. Or if not dead, then some far-flung place that didn't resemble a space station. Maybe this was a joke. A joke from the Chairman: Ha ha, we fooled you. Welcome aboard. She wasn't a new employee (in either sense) and the Chairman wasn't given to jokes.

She turned the corner. Desperation and confusion drove her to speak even as she entertained the thought that it might be a trap. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

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SETTING: a luxury hotel

[Tonight's gig has just ended and the band has split up to enjoy the luxuries of the hotel for a couple of hours before their driver comes to pick up both them and their equipment. Their instruments look sort of lonely, left behind up there - on the small, round stage in the corner of the room. It's a nostalgic observation that Shiori makes, glancing back over one shoulder before sitting down on one of the free stools at the long, mahogany bar and it makes her feel strangely estranged. From the situation. From her surroundings. Although she's a stranger to neither.

Cocking her head slightly, she surveys the selection of alcohol on the shelves behind the bartender. Lets her eyes run over each bottle individually while she tries to make her pick. She can't, though. The jitters from performing have died down and left her with no hole to fill. If she's drinking, she'll be drinking to fill the silence instead and there are other ways to do that, right? Thus, she turns her attention towards the person next to her.]

What do you think I should get? I'm drawing a complete blank.

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[CW: Alcoholism] Setting: A Jersey Bar, Night

Max Payne sits alone on a crummy stool in a crummy bar in a crummy part of Hoboken, New Jersey. Outside, dirty snow drifts down like ash from the sky. Inside, the lights are dim, the music is faint and scratchy, the floor looks like it was last cleaned during the Clinton administration. An ashtray filled with crushed, smouldering, used-up cigarettes sits in front of him. The tobacco is also crummy: cheap cigs for a cheap place.

The only thing in the joint with any kind of class is the half-empty bottle of scotch Max has next to him. It’s the high-quality stuff, high potency too. Max has been working his way through it for about two hours now. He pours himself a glass, and stares morosely into it as though it holds all the answers. Then he drinks the answers, decides he doesn’t like what they reveal to him, and lights another cigarette as he contemplates his next move. Inevitably, his next move involves pouring another glass. He’s got a system down, a routine. Life is meaningless if you don’t give it any structure.

Max isn’t what anybody would ever call a sociable drinker, or person for that matter, but tonight something (probably the scotch) makes him start talking. He’s not speaking to anyone in particular, just wondering aloud. Maybe he’s hoping for better answers than the drink has been giving him.

"Friend of mine said something to me once," he says, his voice flat and dry. "If the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then maybe it’s not actually wrong, maybe it’s just fate. Something like that." It’s not an exact quote, he’s paraphrasing as best he can. Memory is the enemy to Max, a monster he tries to keep at arm’s length so it can’t rip him to shreds. "I used to think that was just crap he used to excuse himself when he screwed people over. But maybe..."

Maybe there are no choices. Maybe life is a one-way train track, speeding people toward their inevitable derailment. Maybe there’s just enough free will in the world to justify guilt and regret, but not enough to actually change things.

These aren’t easy words to for anyone to speak, especially someone halfway through a bottle. Max trails off, then shakes his head, losing his train of thought. “Ah, forget it.”

He resumes his routine.

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[action]

[ Haruka crosses one long leg over the other and idly pokes at her salad with a fork while checking her phone for messages. On the cafe patio, the waitress bustles from table to table, customers chat or wolf down their food and drink or signal for the bill. None of it seems to make an impact on the blonde, though her lip quirks upward when a pair of schoolgirls pass on the sidewalk and whisper excitedly about "that cute guy".

The buttons of her phone make a "pip pip pip" noise as she scrolls through her inbox, ignoring -- for the moment -- messages from the track team, notices from the F1 forum she'd posted to, and the fifteen different texts from Usagi. With a slight huff, she closes her phone and tucks it back into her pocket. The salad is getting warm from sitting in the afternoon sunshine, but she fishes a tomato out anyway. Popping it in her mouth, she looks up at the cloudless blue sky. ]

It's a beautiful day.

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setting: a random waterhole in a college town

[ Fourbuck is an unusual surname, by most standards. Once every five times Camden's mentioned it, he's had to explain that Fourbuck is his hand-to-God last name. He doesn't really mind it, except for when he does. Like tonight. He's in no mood to be social tonight, knowing what the date is and what it means to him and the man he calls Dad.

Here's to you, Ma, he thinks as he hails the bartender for another drink. The bottle comes to him with condensation all over it, and he spends a bit rolling the bottle from one hand to the other before caving in and turning to the closest person on the bar. The bartender didn't give him a coaster, see, and normally he wouldn't care about that, but— ]

Hey, you mind if I borrow your coaster?

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canon: marvel comics

Location: Paris, France

[Go find Lorelei, the All-Mother said. Go bring her back, the All-Mother said.

Go ruin the carpet and the punch, the All-Mother did. Loki is still sour about the ruined carpet, but that's in the past and something that can be easily mended.

As for now, right here, in this very moment, the black-haired God of Mischief finds himself late at night in the streets of Paris. He supposed he could understand the charm and appeal of the city. It did have its own sort of distinct flavor. As it happens, this is one of the few moments he is mostly himself, appearing as a young man with a fur-lined jacket, a deep green shirt and black jeans tucked into boots.

Even Gods had to take a day off every so often, right?]

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Setting: A forest somewhere, max rating about pg-13

Skyfire was one frustrated dragon at the moment. He was trying to reach and dig out a plant that was half under a live tree without destroying said tree, and failing miserably. He couldn't get too close without tangling his horns in the branches and his paws were too big to get at the plant without ruining it.

"Oh come on..." He let out a huff as he dropped the spade that he'd spent days making to give him a longer reach and an easier to use handle. It wasn't made for the angle he needed and he felt rather frustrated with himself. This was only his second plant of the day, and he had more to gather.

He made quite the interesting sight to be sure... A 30 foot long, white and red dragon with wings... trying to get under a tree to get a tiny, foot tall plant without smashing it or ruining it's roots for replanting... Not something most people see every day.

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Setting: A generic street

The machine is puzzled. It's an odd emotion, but no stranger than the others he has felt over the past few days. Why is he still here? He was lowered into molten metal and went offline. That should have been the end of it. Should have, but was not. Now he is here, wherever "here" might be.

What is his purpose now? His mission has been fulfilled. John is safe. So the tall robot stands there with an unnatural stillness about him, staring out as the people pass on by. His face wears a small expression of befuddlement.