Trustfell Mods (
trustharder) wrote in
trusthell2016-02-28 12:00 am
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Welcome.
You last remember feeling safe.
You don't know what caused that response, now that you think about it; you can't remember what you were doing before the warm, comfortable feeling came over you, a sensation somewhere between relief and the light contentment that comes with the knowledge that you're safe enough to sleep and god, are you ready to. It feels like you may have been sleeping for a while before this, even; your limbs are heavy in the memory, and you recall how difficult it was to open your eyes.
Turning your head is likewise difficult, it feels kind of like it's full of sand. Weighted-down by sleep. It's so much easier to remain still, and so you do, and before you haze out again you can vaguely hear a voice.
It's no one you recognize, and it sounds strange and vaguely distorted as you start to drift off again.
"Everything'll be fine."
There isn't an answer that you can hear; the voice speaks once more.
"...you ready?"
You don't remember what you wanted to say to that. Always, maybe. Or Ready for what? Or perhaps What's happened to me?
But none of it matters, because consciousness slips away from you too quickly for you to respond.
---
You wake up some time later; the comfortable, safe feeling from earlier certainly isn't dampened any by the bed you wake up in. Whether you like it soft as a cloud or firm enough to support the most finicky of spines, the bed you're in is nice, and it's pretty much exactly what you've been looking for in a mattress.
Shame the rest of the room is probably going to be a bit jarring when you wake up properly.
The room you're in is completely unfamiliar, all concrete and steel and almost nothing that makes it yours - but there's a trunk near the bed and there's what looks like a smartphone sitting on the trunk, and you might want to grab that before you leave the room. Trying to text or call out won't do anything for the time being, unfortunately, but it's something. A lifeline, maybe.
If you're looking to see if anyone is here with you, maybe you can find someone as you wander through the main corridor; after all, there are a few places to explore here, even if the bulk of the place is pretty much a straight shot down the center. If you're looking to gather, the dining hall is probably the best place for it, as it's large enough to accommodate all of you.
Wherever you choose to go, however, there are a set of rules posted in every room; the far wall of the dining hall, across from the entrances, also has a bulletin board with twenty-seven pictures, along with some...interesting information, posted on it. The board is large enough for all of you to look at it, but you might not want to try to get at anything posted there; just like the rules, there's glass in front of it, and it's looking to be extremely shatterproof.
Sorry about that.
There's one more thing you'll notice on your wanderings through the corridor – there are no windows, and there are no doors that can possibly lead outside.
Looks like you're trapped. Might as well get to know those that are here with you.
You don't know what caused that response, now that you think about it; you can't remember what you were doing before the warm, comfortable feeling came over you, a sensation somewhere between relief and the light contentment that comes with the knowledge that you're safe enough to sleep and god, are you ready to. It feels like you may have been sleeping for a while before this, even; your limbs are heavy in the memory, and you recall how difficult it was to open your eyes.
Turning your head is likewise difficult, it feels kind of like it's full of sand. Weighted-down by sleep. It's so much easier to remain still, and so you do, and before you haze out again you can vaguely hear a voice.
It's no one you recognize, and it sounds strange and vaguely distorted as you start to drift off again.
"Everything'll be fine."
There isn't an answer that you can hear; the voice speaks once more.
"...you ready?"
You don't remember what you wanted to say to that. Always, maybe. Or Ready for what? Or perhaps What's happened to me?
But none of it matters, because consciousness slips away from you too quickly for you to respond.
---
You wake up some time later; the comfortable, safe feeling from earlier certainly isn't dampened any by the bed you wake up in. Whether you like it soft as a cloud or firm enough to support the most finicky of spines, the bed you're in is nice, and it's pretty much exactly what you've been looking for in a mattress.
Shame the rest of the room is probably going to be a bit jarring when you wake up properly.
The room you're in is completely unfamiliar, all concrete and steel and almost nothing that makes it yours - but there's a trunk near the bed and there's what looks like a smartphone sitting on the trunk, and you might want to grab that before you leave the room. Trying to text or call out won't do anything for the time being, unfortunately, but it's something. A lifeline, maybe.
If you're looking to see if anyone is here with you, maybe you can find someone as you wander through the main corridor; after all, there are a few places to explore here, even if the bulk of the place is pretty much a straight shot down the center. If you're looking to gather, the dining hall is probably the best place for it, as it's large enough to accommodate all of you.
Wherever you choose to go, however, there are a set of rules posted in every room; the far wall of the dining hall, across from the entrances, also has a bulletin board with twenty-seven pictures, along with some...interesting information, posted on it. The board is large enough for all of you to look at it, but you might not want to try to get at anything posted there; just like the rules, there's glass in front of it, and it's looking to be extremely shatterproof.
Sorry about that.
There's one more thing you'll notice on your wanderings through the corridor – there are no windows, and there are no doors that can possibly lead outside.
Looks like you're trapped. Might as well get to know those that are here with you.
Bulletin board
[her priorities are kind of dumb!!]
no subject
Of course Misa-Misa's worried about her picture! I mean, it's hideous! The shading's all wrong, whoever edited it obviously had no idea what they were doing! Now whoever looks at this picture is going to say, "Oh, this is supposed to be the Captivating one?! She looks so...blah!" Like that!
I won't allow my reputation to become so...so...what's that word? Starts with a "T"...
no subject
And just listen to yourself, thinking one photograph is going to change thins about what people think. I'll tell you, it would be for the better! [gestures] Look at that thing, it's even in bleeding color. In all my days I aint seen the like.
[It's a sight to behold, says the one man with the sepia toned mugshot.
also, totally just throwing out compliments now.]
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Not even the most advanced in that technology can do that. You'd be lucky if a photo manged to develop at all.
[He's... never had a photo taken of himself.]
I can't even recall the day I got that photo taken of myself.
no subject
[ She looks at the profiles, just to be sure... ]
Pardon me for asking, but, what year is it?
no subject
He frowns, brows knitted together.]
I'm... not sure what that would have to do with anything... last I checked, it was 1880, on the nose.
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But he has to. Speedwagon freaks out.]
Ah! What the--?! Neither of those can be right! It's not possible for someone to live that long, or travel through time!
[....cough.]
no subject
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Blimey, you're right. That can't possible be right....
[even though the facts are looking him plain in the face, he's having some trouble accepting all of this.]
no subject
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Are you sure?
[Look he knows women like to lie about their age]
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[ She looks like she's about to cry... ]
no subject
Wait a second... I didn't mean it like that!
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For apparently 24, you do look rather young.
[When in doubt, com... pliment?]
no subject
[ misa you weigh all of 79 pounds how fit could you be ]
no subject
[Speedwagon you only know about this right now.]
It's not everyday I find myself in the midst of someone of that profession.
no subject
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Should I be honored then? [He fixes her with a light smile. One of Speedwagon's lesser known skills was one of a conversationalist. He was frankly, good with people.]
Seeing as how we're all in the same mess together, it's pretty unavoidable I'd say. But now I'd say you can have as much breathing room as you please!