The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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15strangers2018-07-29 02:13 am
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2018-07-29 02:13 am
WEEK 3
[As Marie said: so much for trust and resolve. Two people are dead, and there is very little anyone can do about it now, no matter how much they would have wanted to sacrifice themselves.
In particular, with Marie's words during the trial, it's clear that time is limited. Or is it? Marie is also capable of omitting the truth when it serves her needs, especially when it comes towards the Strangers and their still-missing memories. In any case, one can only hope they don't fall for her tricks again, even though getting away with murder would - apparently - save at least one life.
There is something else, as well. When everyone wakes up the morning, they will find that information on their wristwatches has been updated to reflect their new number - and something new about their powers. Not only that, but a new floor has opened up above Floor 1 for everyone to explore. Maybe more can be found on just what, exactly, is going on.
Is Marie telling the truth? Is the universe really ending? Or is it just another means of getting what she wants? Whatever is happening, people will need to be more careful around her - and one another. Who knows what Marie will offer next - or what your roommate or new friend is now capable of as a result. Especially since it's now known, thanks to Marie's actions during the trial, that everyone has definitely lost some memories. And unfortunately, no one seems to have regained any of them so far - or if anyone has, they haven't said a word.
If trust and resolve was ever needed, it feels like now is the time to try and find all that.
There are thirteen people in this place.]
1/2, because... well, see next/nested comment's subject
Mostly.]
Aw, come on, seriously? What is this, a plague of infinite rats?!
[Somehow, it's so much more annoying to fight monsters when you can't just... stab them.]
2/2, because CW: ALCOHOL AND BAD COPING SKILLS, and not everybody wants to tag that.
He finds the bar after walking through that very salmon room, and, well... he was going to investigate more, but... he asked it for a gin and tonic, because frankly he doesn't know very much about alcohol, and... well, while you might get lucky and catch him while he's heading back in for another glass of what certainly smells like liquified evil pine tree (with lime!), after about three of those in the space of a few hours, he's going to be lazing in the den on his back on the floor next to the stream, idly trailing the fingers of one hand back and forth in it, one forearm resting over his eyes, glass forgotten next to him.]
It's... you get drunk, and it's supposed to make everything go away, right? So how come... aw, to hell with it. Somebody piss me off again, I don't like this....
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You sound like every Texan stereotype I've ever heard about.
[ What? You asked. ]
... That's the best I've got, I'm sorry.
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It's... it was a good try. I'm just... I'm blue again. We found a place like this in one of the paintings - not like this like this, but there was a bar, and... she wouldn't let me drink anything from it.
[He isn't really aware how little sense that makes, at the moment.]
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[ It's actually not that weird to him. Charlotte told him the story of how she traveled inside the television world, one time. ]
I've heard stranger things. Well, at least we know this alcohol isn't poisonous?
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[He uncovers his face, letting that arm fall limp at his side.]
I can see okay and I don't feel like I'm dying.
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[ He's dead serious. ]
If you're truly concerned about it, that is.
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[He slowly drags himself up into a seated position, and carefully stands, wavering slightly once he's upright. He walks over to C with exaggerated care, still wobbling a bit but managing to make the few steps a straight line.]
See, perfectly? I'm officer sober. And that was a joke, 'mnot that toasted.
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[ Anyway, he'll take a look at his eyes first, ask him to open his mouth, look at his lips, his fingernails. That sort of thing. After a moment, he'll shake his head. He'll take his pulse, too, and check that just to be sure, but... ]
Mister Morris, the only thing you seem to be suffering from is alcohol, unless it's an advanced poison I'm unaware of. But your vitals all seem fine, your pupils show no signs of major disturbance, and I'm not picking up any discoloration or bitter smells.
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[...yes, he's laughing at his own joke there.
Maybe for a little too long, but only a little.]
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[ He smiles.
Was that
was that a terrible dad joke
oh my god ]
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Jonathan laughs, because there's nothing else he can do, and because damn it, C is a good dad.]
Thanks. I... I needed that.
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It's nice to hear you laughing, Mister Morris.
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[He's pretty sure that didn't come out right, but he's also not sure how it's wrong, so....]
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You really do trip over your own words sometimes, don't you? Mister Morris, it's never impossible for anyone to change or better themselves if they work at it enough. At least... that is what the fatherly side of me believes. You're already making steps.
The world is a cold, cruel, dark place. Don't contribute to it. Be a light, instead.