Party with the Telapathic Octopi
Apr. 14th, 2013 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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muse_eum Who: Klavier Gavin, Franziska von Karma, and Trevor "Wolf" Hager
What: A private storyline in which a bunch of previously dead people compete for their right to stay alive by averting a future disaster for a shady group of post-apocalyptic survivors.
Warnings: Death, lots of stupidity, and some OOC fixation on xenobiology.
Consciousness came to him slowly. The sound of waves came first, nearly indistinguishable from their roaring echoes. There was the scent of saltwater and stale air, and his whole body was cold and damp. He was considering retreating back into sleep when a fat drop of water, gritty with mud, dripped on his lips.
He bolted upright, wiping at his mouth and trying to pull a curse from his sleep-muddled brain, and promptly hit his head, rebounded off the hard surface, and hit it again on whatever he had been lying on. This got a couple more garbled curses but at least he was fully awake now.
He was in a stone compartment, just barely big enough to lie down in. Faint blue-green light seeped in around the lid. He didn't know why he was in a stone box by the sea. He didn't remember falling asleep here. Come to think of it, he didn't remember much of anything, did he? Well. That was new. Or was it? Maybe he had done this before and just forgotten. Maybe he had--
Never mind, that train of thought could get really circular really fast. Better to forget what he'd forgotten and get out of his box. He sat up with a bit more caution and shoved away the lid, which was something of a feat considering how heavy it was. Things he knew about himself: he was not a competitive bodybuilder. Right then.
The first thing that struck him was the light. Flickering blue points coated the walls and ceilings, illuminating the caverns, the water that flooded them, and the stone boxes that lined the walls. Cavern might be a strong word; it was hardly big enough to stand up in, and not much wider than it was tall. It was more like a tunnel-- yes, he could see branches twisting off further down past some of the boxes without lids. Kind of odd, that. What was someone keeping down here, anyway? Other than sleeping amnesiacs, that is, because he couldn't think of a single situation where a warehouse of bodies in boxes made sense.
...Oh. Wait. No, there was one. He squinted into the dim light, hoping to see livestock cages or shipments of goods, or something else sensible, but it was no use; that wasn't the sort of thing you kept in tombs. And they were definitely tombs, because he could see moth-eaten cloth and the glint of bones inside some of the ones without lids.
"...Oh." He took a deep breath. "Hmm."
His voice sounded awfully calm for someone who had just crawled out of a tomb. Things he knew about himself: he was level-headed in a crisis. He must be, right? Right. That would help. And in this situation, a level-headed person would investigate his surroundings so he could piece together some sort of narrative. Then that was what he would do.
First came a cursory check to make sure he, in fact, alive. After he was satisfied that he wasn't fatally wounded, was breathing, and didn't have any decaying limbs or dangling eyeballs, he stepped out of the tomb and into the water. It was knee-deep and freezing and he didn't want to think about what might be living in it, but these are the chances you take when you're a reasonable and level-headed man.
"Hello," he called, strolling from tomb to tomb, knocking on the lids and peering inside. "Hello, hello! Any other dead guys? Anyone at all?"
What: A private storyline in which a bunch of previously dead people compete for their right to stay alive by averting a future disaster for a shady group of post-apocalyptic survivors.
Warnings: Death, lots of stupidity, and some OOC fixation on xenobiology.
Consciousness came to him slowly. The sound of waves came first, nearly indistinguishable from their roaring echoes. There was the scent of saltwater and stale air, and his whole body was cold and damp. He was considering retreating back into sleep when a fat drop of water, gritty with mud, dripped on his lips.
He bolted upright, wiping at his mouth and trying to pull a curse from his sleep-muddled brain, and promptly hit his head, rebounded off the hard surface, and hit it again on whatever he had been lying on. This got a couple more garbled curses but at least he was fully awake now.
He was in a stone compartment, just barely big enough to lie down in. Faint blue-green light seeped in around the lid. He didn't know why he was in a stone box by the sea. He didn't remember falling asleep here. Come to think of it, he didn't remember much of anything, did he? Well. That was new. Or was it? Maybe he had done this before and just forgotten. Maybe he had--
Never mind, that train of thought could get really circular really fast. Better to forget what he'd forgotten and get out of his box. He sat up with a bit more caution and shoved away the lid, which was something of a feat considering how heavy it was. Things he knew about himself: he was not a competitive bodybuilder. Right then.
The first thing that struck him was the light. Flickering blue points coated the walls and ceilings, illuminating the caverns, the water that flooded them, and the stone boxes that lined the walls. Cavern might be a strong word; it was hardly big enough to stand up in, and not much wider than it was tall. It was more like a tunnel-- yes, he could see branches twisting off further down past some of the boxes without lids. Kind of odd, that. What was someone keeping down here, anyway? Other than sleeping amnesiacs, that is, because he couldn't think of a single situation where a warehouse of bodies in boxes made sense.
...Oh. Wait. No, there was one. He squinted into the dim light, hoping to see livestock cages or shipments of goods, or something else sensible, but it was no use; that wasn't the sort of thing you kept in tombs. And they were definitely tombs, because he could see moth-eaten cloth and the glint of bones inside some of the ones without lids.
"...Oh." He took a deep breath. "Hmm."
His voice sounded awfully calm for someone who had just crawled out of a tomb. Things he knew about himself: he was level-headed in a crisis. He must be, right? Right. That would help. And in this situation, a level-headed person would investigate his surroundings so he could piece together some sort of narrative. Then that was what he would do.
First came a cursory check to make sure he, in fact, alive. After he was satisfied that he wasn't fatally wounded, was breathing, and didn't have any decaying limbs or dangling eyeballs, he stepped out of the tomb and into the water. It was knee-deep and freezing and he didn't want to think about what might be living in it, but these are the chances you take when you're a reasonable and level-headed man.
"Hello," he called, strolling from tomb to tomb, knocking on the lids and peering inside. "Hello, hello! Any other dead guys? Anyone at all?"
