voicetest | Entries tagged with entry: prose

SETTING TWO: THE LOG HORIZON UNIVERSE, SOMEWHERE NORTH ("HOKKAIDO")
(situation: stuck in a generic fantasy mmo.)
(prose or brackets)

Two things are on her mind as she noiselessly strides between shallow pools in a cave system. Firstly, the white blazer she has on makes quite the statement but it's no lab coat. Last but not least, here somewhere are robots fighting giants and she isn't resting until she finds one.

It isn't quite pitch dark.

Preoccupied, Nakamura edges her way forward against the cave wall, which is rough and pitted with ice. She stops when she almost walks into something. Ice protrudes from the wall like icicles jammed in with force, and she can see the "icicles" spiral up into the darkness, wrapped around a column? She lightly grabs one, and it's ice, but ice encasing iron.

Is she looking at a way up? Did she stumble on an abandoned watch post? She pauses breathlessly, on the verge of springing ... somewhere.

Alright, she'll go. Maybe there's something.

SETTING ONE: AN OVERGROWN FIELD NEAR AN ABANDONED BASEBALL PITCH, TOKISADAME(?), JAPAN
(situation: closer to canon.)
(prose or brackets)

She's running.

Maybe in circles -- it isn't like she has satellite imagery to look at! She can't confirm her position. She isn't one of those giant mechs in Aldnoah Zero, she's a science teacher running as fast as she can -- on foot! Away from an unidentified flying object of her own creation. The remote of which is in her hands, quite useless.

She fights the tall grass, which parts with such ease for her pursuer. To think that a homing device, designed to return the craft to its controller, would be so effective!

deepreflection

Michiru huffed as she swam the length of the lap over and over. There was something about swimming away from home. The indoor pool they had installed at the house was lovely and it was always fun to have Hotaru splash around the shallow end but sometimes, Michiru needed a break from their happy home life.

The water was cold and it felt wonderful against her skin. It was here where she could feel the call of the ocean almost as easily if she were actually in the jeweled waters. She turned and began a backstroke, as she looked to the ceiling.

Sometimes she had memories of their old lives, back in the Silver Millennium. She wondered if she genuinely had a large swimming pool. She was surprised that all of Neptune hadn't been underwater.

She began to feel the strain on her shoulders and arms and began to pull herself up on the ladder.

mindmagician

"I think I might quite like to take a holiday. Go the sea maybe, get a tan. Have you ever been to Italy?" The bartender shook his head. It wouldn't have mattered if the man did; the well spoken Englishmen in the tailored patterned suit of deep purplish-blue wouldn't have wanted to hear it. "Ah," he tsked with a shake of his head. "Shame. I hear they've got great parties. Last til dawn. And the women?"

He sucked in an appreciative breath through his teeth and shook his head once in wonder before taking a shallow drink. "I wonder if I shouldn't just.. take a tour of the country. See some new scenery. Bit too dirty around these parts for me nowdays. No one has the same self respect anymore. Disgusting, don't you think so?"

The bartender was still staring at him, compelled and rooted to the spot. "Yes." The glass in his hands being wiped clean had been clean ten minutes beforehand but Kilgrave wanted the company. He didn't seem to mind the repetitive movements; in all actuality, he found them.. quaint. Like he might be in a movie or something.

etherics

SETTING ONE: Prose or Brackets

Ah, Victorian London. The Thames, the clock tower, the palace. The crowded dirty cobblestone streets, the ever-present pall of coal smoke belched from trains and factories and steamers, the curling fog around the lamplights in the darkness. There are handsome gardens and lush concert halls waiting for the wealthy and privileged, private rail carriages and cut crystal on white tablecloths, but for the poor and the working class there are crowded boarding houses, dark alleyways, and the echoing footsteps of someone following you in the roughest parts of town where they'll never find your body.

Perhaps this is your first time here, and you're staring about in awe or disgust. Or perhaps this is all old news to you. Perhaps you, like everyone else, are about your daily business hailing a hansom cab or perusing shops or solving mysteries. Perhaps you don't even notice the whip slender, shabbily dressed little man until you've bumped into him, or until he's come alongside you trying to pass by, or has accidentally started for your cab. In a city of first appearances he's not much to look at: sickly pale like someone recently ill, five foot, and so thin as to look almost a youth, unfashionably short cropped red hair and patches on his jacket.

The edge of a cheap cotton glove pokes awkwardly from a pocket. He's wearing the other one, cradling his left forearm close to his body to obscure the sight of it for the same reason the glove had been hastily stuffed away - both are entirely covered in blood, his left arm soaked to the elbow.

Whether it's his blood or someone else's is anyone's guess.

Perhaps this meeting is in the dead of night, when no legitimate person has any business on the streets, in which case another detail might make itself alarmingly known to you as he materializes out of the fog. The man's unnaturally dilated pupils are ringed in gold, and faintly glowing.

~

SETTING TWO: Brackets, Text, Video or Voice

[ Oh my stars and garters, it's a jamjar. Is it a space station? A magic castle? An island governed by capricious gods demanding sexual sacrifice? Whatever it is, it's bloody irritating, and justiciars aren't allowed vacations. ]

Excuse me.

[ The voice that raps out is lit with annoyance, the owner clearly clinging to a veneer of courtesy by his teeth, which are clenched tight beneath pressed lips. ]

I don't have time for this. I'm expected - and I will be missed, if I don't turn up. I won't be kept here, understand.

~

SETTING THREE: choose ur own adventure!

vampyre

For whatever reason, you find yourself stepping into this room through that door you just opened. It doesn't make sense, most likely, as you were surely going from somewhere to...well, anywhere that wasn't this particular room, but before you can connect the dots the door has softly closed behind you. The room is nice; everything in it seems to be geared to cause as little impact as possible, with its muted, yet comfortable tones, shapes that are soft yet secure and a soft, continuous instrumental song that plays on the background but that seems to disappear if you're not paying attention. Even the smell is nice, reminiscent of nothing concrete, yet slightly sweet and inviting at the same time. The room seems soundproofed too, as no other sound seems to come from behind you; no cars nor planes or whatever was going on the other side of that door.

Maybe now you'll notice the woman.

In your defense, she's standing by the far end of the studio (because this is what the place seems to be), currently busying herself with a coffee maker. She's dressed in tones similar to the room, although the colors are more vibrant and they certainly don't look like an uniform even though she seems to obviously work here. With her back partly pointed towards you, most of her face remains hidden by a wealth of black silky hair, although judging by her hands and what little is visible she's rather pale, yet not incredibly so.

"Now, this is interesting."

Without turning around, the woman takes a tentative sip from the just prepared cup, savors it for a moment and then adds some sugar. "I had been notified that I wouldn't have a four o'clock; you would think such news would mean I could finally get some rest, but no ten minutes afterwards and I'm already bored to death." She turns around, looking at you with a small smile on her face; now she's perfectly visible, those eerie shiny blue eyes offering a stark contrast with her skin. "Coffee? If we're doing this, I would rather know you're fully comfortable"

postcog

The library is...impressive. Not like her own, the Great Library, carved into a mountain and full of hidden passages (and deadly creatures). Still, it's full of books she has never seen. None of them have magic in them, but all the new information she was finding made it up for it in spades. Lirael had never read about the things she was reading now, and such as her curiosity she could very well ignore the fact she had found herself on a weird place, most likely away from the Glacier. Or maybe she entered a room that had another library inside? It could happen.

Noises blur out, people blur out. It's just her and the books. She likes it that way; silent, neat, ordered. If she focuses on it she can spend a little longer in here without freaking out.

Not freaking out is very important.

themaninthebooth

There is a 24-hour diner. A diner that serves a variety of normal treats from coffee to cream puffs to pastrami sandwiches. The waitresses, the cooks, the owner have all lived normal lives and serve normal people.

Today there is a Man in the diner. A Man that you only heard about in rumors. A Man heard of in joking tones, but with eyes that said they were deadly serious. Some call him a manipulator. Some call him a mentor. Some call him an angel. Some call him a devil.

He is The Man sitting in the booth at the end of the diner.

He appears to spend his time writing down things in a large, black, leather-bound notebook. He orders whatever seems to suit his fancy at any given moment, but his attention remains on the book.

He's waiting for you. Waiting to make a deal to help get you what you want. All you have to do is sit down... and ask for it.

endingtime

She shouldn't feel bad about it, but she did anyway. She was a member of Department 0, so she assumed she could be trusted with things, but her superior hadn't let her see the body. Normally Mayu would be glad about it—it wasn't like she wants to see a dead body—but she hadn't even been allowed to check if the injuries were magically-induced. It wouldn't even take that long, and she'd only see the body for a second. On top of that, she'd been sent away without being given anything to do, leaving Mayu to walk dejectedly back to the police station, clutching her phone just in case someone from the department changed their mind.

She'd been with the department for months already... it was time for something to change. It isn't like she's asking for heavy assignments or anything, but lately, she hadn't done very much that was useful. She had to prove herself....

That was what she was thinking when suddenly, a gigantic billboard fell down in front of her. "Huh? Wha—?"

albafruhling

[[Minor spoilers all the way from Ch2/S2/Vol2 and is set sometime after the anime's finale.]]

Setting: A forest in between towns, in the middle of the night

Alba awakens to the memory of Ross' (... or should it be Creasion's?) disappearance.

It was all crisp and clear to him still; the way the sun beat down on them, the way the wind picked up bits of sand and got it into his mouth whenever he so much as opened it, and that smile... oh god, that smile. It was the first time Alba's ever seen the soldier give him something so pure and genuine, and whenever his mind returned to it, Alba's chest began to ache.

He rubbed his tired eyes; it's still a long ways away until sunrise, the fire he had set up continuing to dance brilliantly in front of him. This was becoming a problem, these nightmares that plagued him. Granted, they weren't anything serious, but if he continued to have sleepless nights like this, he was gonna end up being monster fodder.

"If I could, just one more time..." He murmured, staring into the flames for a moment before pulling his blanket closer; closing his eyes as the night's bitter chill nipped at his nose. He needed to sleep if he wanted to make it to the city by nightfall the next day, but with his head bustling about like this there was no way he was going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the distance. Huh. The fire should be keeping the monsters and animals away. Could it be one of the twelve demons? He swallowed, shoving his blanket to the side as he quietly picked his sword up.

"... H... Hello?" He spoke into the darkness, knees trembling.

Current Mood: tired

onazima

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.

brushitoff

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?]

digsruins

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.

rollbookstinger

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?"

envy_the_nayme

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.

caelum_ignis_draconigena

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.

unclebob

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.

darkpants_warmfeeling

Jacob Taylor is hard at work in his starship's armory. He's in charge of maintaining an impressive array of assault rifles, heavy pistols, grenade launchers, and other implements of destruction and defense. Jacob's aware that the lives of his friends and crewmates might depend on the condition of these weapons. It's a job he takes seriously, and it's a job he's good at.

When your character enters, Jacob turns away from his electronic console to greet them.

"Hey. Can I help you with something?"

eskalated

[A]
Eska couldn't be called one for much of what was thought of as the typical female hobbies. Her clothing was chiefly in the style traditional to the Water Tribes and she had no taste for seeking out other outfits. Her own was sufficient for her needs and displayed rank well enough so why should she? Shoes bore the same conclusion as clothing. Jewelry brought her some minor pleasure but given training, wearing much in the way of baubles was useless. One must be free to 'flow like water' and so it was the same with her. Food was food and one could only eat so much.

Thus marketplaces tended to hold little pleasure for the apathetic young woman. Today though was apparently a day of distractions and one would find Eska lingering before a store front window in thought. What was she looking at precisely?

[B]
"Guard to your left! You're too open!"

Eska's words are quick and clipped, flung out sharply as she moves into her next stance. Thought this moment was simply practice, a glance at the woman could find that she held this fight as serious as any other. Her eyes are icier, her expression firm and resolute. If she were simply playing around it would be one thing but now she's obviously trying to test her opponent's limits.

"You're too slow!" At that a tendril of water snapped in the air dangerously close to the other person, sharp enough to be more a whip than a mere flow of suspended water.

Eska is a rather brutal training partner.

[C]
[OOC: Feel free to pick your own scenario. Please stick to prose. :3]

[D]
( NSFW; Domination; )

just_echoes

(A)

You are a client of the Dollhouse and you've chosen Echo to be your own personal... what? Student? Date? Maid? Rocket scientist? All of the above? You choose the "fantasy" and Echo will be it.

(B)

You work FOR the Dollhouse as a handler or one of the oh so kind staff members who work hard to make sure the Actives stay as healthy and content as always. Or maybe you're another Active. Echo is between engagements for the moment but she seems to be acting a little differently than normal. She seems more aware. She's saying things the other Actives don't understand. What do you do?

(C)

Echo enjoyed being free - both mentally and physically. Her mind may be crowded but at least she was aware of it. It was a significant improvement on the wiped state she'd been living in before the changes started. She took a deep breath of fresh air, determined to enjoy one of her last days of peace before they returned to the Dollhouse. They had a lot of work to do but that didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy life a little.

She stopped at a local florist, leaning down to give the roses a sniff. Smiling, she touched the petals with her fingertips for a moment before straightening to continue down the sidewalk. Unfortunately she'd let herself get so distracted by the flowers that she got careless. When she turned she ran right into someone walking behind her.

She fumbled, trying to hold onto them to keep them both upright. With a laugh she smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

darkanddreamless

"A deal with the devil... I should have known."

In an expanse of wilderness that seems vast, almost endless, sits a young girl. Though she can't be more than perhaps 13 years old, there seems to be a great and heavy sadness surrounding her. Cradled protectively in her small, white hands is a pale lotus flower, its petals closed.

"Abigail... are you there? Can you hear me...?"

She calls to someone who doesn't seem to be there. It's very nearly ironic, considering she seems entirely unaware of the presence of the very real and physically manifested person approaching her...

[A NOTE: though the OP is prose, if you'd like to reply with brackets, feel free. I'm up for either.]

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Entries tagged with entry: prose

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Wendy, from the game Don't Starve. PG for now; possible discussion of death and suicide.

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