Fighting For Your Life!

[strangerpeople]

WELL SH*IKSSHSH*

[The first thing you feel when you finally come to is a headache.

The bad thing is that it's not even a painful headache - it's one of those annoying headaches that's just below the threshold of pain, and it's centered right in the middle of your forehead. Just...ugh. Where's the aspirin?

For that matter, actually, where are you? This is not your beautiful house! In fact, as get out of your bed, you realize this place isn't even remotely a home. And whatever you're wearing isn't even remotely what you recall wearing. (I mean, yeah, it's not uncomfortable, and whoever dressed you was kind enough to make sure you had underwear on, I suppose. That's one less thing to worry about, right?)

Also, you have a weird wrist...watch...comm...thing on you, which is nice. Or at least it would be, if it and every other computer in the place didn't suddenly start making the second most ungodly noise you will no doubt come to hear in this place. The noise is followed by a a message on every desktop in the area, which won't be disappearing any time soon. Thankfully, your nifty wristwatch comm is spared this unavoidable screen, and tapping a button let's it disappear to reveal a simple profile interface, alongside a a text, calling, and photo function. Something tells you those latter two won't be particularly useful to you in the long run.

In any case, apparently you now have a Title, as well as a power, even if you've never had one before. Why? Where the hell are you? Who else is with you? Can you get out?

And...is someone laughing? The sound seems to bounce off and echo faintly throughout the floors. It's high-pitched, and - as you get closer to the theater - it gets just a little louder and just a little more grating. It sounds like a rabid hyena that huffed helium. Hopefully, it's just a movie or something that can be turned off. Someone ought to go in and do that.

In the meantime, welcome, Titled - and good luck.

There are fifteen strangers in this place.]


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Comments

[losergod]

[ Listen... there's so much more disturbing things you don't know. Just be glad he's never going to tell you, and can't remember half of them.

Still, he smiles. ]

... If that's what you want.

[illusionarymelody]

It suits you far more.

[And doesn't remind her of Crow or whatever fate the real young Vincent befell.]

[losergod]

Hm. Do you think so?

[ He doesn't really know what "suits" him, so... ]

I wouldn't know much about names.

[illusionarymelody]

Vincent means "to conquer" so it's a name more popular among nobles.

[losergod]

[ He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. ]

... Is that so? I never would have guessed that. I've read plenty, but I suppose research into names is an area I'm lacking.

[ It's certainly befitting him, he thinks. It hurts just to think about it. ]

[illusionarymelody]

I suppose that can be forgiven. After all, you claim to be God, not an artist who is going to place symbolism in everything.

[losergod]

To tell you the truth, I don't think I'm as knowledgeable as people seem to think I am.

[ He lets out a small, slightly strained laugh. ]

I'm not omniscient. I'm merely capable of controlling any vessel at will. And I can't leave my Heavenly Domain without one...