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cancry2020-07-31 08:27 pm
cancrymods) wrote in cancry2020-07-31 08:27 pm
introductions
It comes to you suddenly, at the end of an unravelling thread of thought. A sudden, piercing sense of wrongness stops you in your tracks and sends you tumbling through rapidfire questions that you realize you have no answer for. How long have you been here? How long have you been doing the same things, over and over, blindly going through the motions of a routine? Just who are you, anyway?
Questions beget more questions and answers prove illusive until you arrive at the only things you know for certain: the first is that this place is Purgatory.
The second is that you're here because you're dead.
Oddly, this doesn't feel like a surprise of any sort. You don't remember how or why it happened, but it did and that's that. It feels rather as though you've been slapped awake and everything around you has come into sharp focus. You're in Limbo, where you've been wandering since you arrived here in Purgatory alongside all the other mindless souls who are acting out what little they remember of their original lives.
Still lingering is that horrible sense of something being terribly wrong. It hasn't dissipated with your realization of the truth – if anything, it's intensified. There's no way to tell what it is, but there's something going on here.
Maybe you should investigate – or at least see if there's anyone else here who's had the same realization as you...
[ OOC: Welcome to the very first log of Can Cry! For the first few hours, Executors will be free to explore and mingle among themselves. Mod replies will come in a few hours. If you're planning to investigate, please indicate that you're doing so in the subject line as your comment. ]
Questions beget more questions and answers prove illusive until you arrive at the only things you know for certain: the first is that this place is Purgatory.
The second is that you're here because you're dead.
Oddly, this doesn't feel like a surprise of any sort. You don't remember how or why it happened, but it did and that's that. It feels rather as though you've been slapped awake and everything around you has come into sharp focus. You're in Limbo, where you've been wandering since you arrived here in Purgatory alongside all the other mindless souls who are acting out what little they remember of their original lives.
Still lingering is that horrible sense of something being terribly wrong. It hasn't dissipated with your realization of the truth – if anything, it's intensified. There's no way to tell what it is, but there's something going on here.
Maybe you should investigate – or at least see if there's anyone else here who's had the same realization as you...
[ OOC: Welcome to the very first log of Can Cry! For the first few hours, Executors will be free to explore and mingle among themselves. Mod replies will come in a few hours. If you're planning to investigate, please indicate that you're doing so in the subject line as your comment. ]
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[ it doesn't bother her very much, not knowing. there is an emptiness, but it just seems... ordinary. it's not a feeling of something being missing; she doesn't feel as though there was ever anything there in the first place. it makes sense that she doesn't have an answer to that question. she tilts her head to the side, guileless. apparently she's either unaffected by the intimidation attempt, or she's totally oblivious to it. ]
Why? Who are you?
no subject
[And that feels indescribably wrong to Kingslayer, in a way that they just can't ignore like Magnum Opus. It's constantly itching in the back of their mind.]
I just have this title that pops up whenever I try to remember who I am.
At least it's pretty badass.
no subject
[ what do you mean identity and ego are more complicated than that. ]
no subject
I'm Kingslayer.
[They have to admit, it's a pretty badass title.]
no subject
[ she thinks about that for a moment. ]
... Maybe that's why you died.
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[ even if it's a distant feeling, she gets that impression. something about it seems lonely to her. calling someone by what they did or what they are, instead of a name that belongs to them — that bothers her, somehow, in the tiniest way, like a persistent noise she can just barely hear. it's the most complex thing she's tried to express since she awoke, so she struggles to articulate it. her words are halting and uncertain. ]
It... doesn't say anything about the kind of person you were... and there was probably more than that.
no subject
Who I am doesn't matter at all. It's what I do.
[They say that with such conviction that it's almost hard to detect the seed of doubt Magnum Opus has planted.
Almost.]