introductions

[cancrymods]

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. ]

Comments

[beknights]

[ Who is this person talking at them? They don't know. But it distracts them from their overwhelming sense of the world enough that they crane their head to peer down at her, sifting the words through their head until they're sure they know what she said.

They shake their head no. They're not sick. Sick is...something different. This is just...a weakness.

Hesitantly, they bring their hand up in front of them. The 'words' feel clumsy, and like they're doing something wrong, but all the same... ]

« I am
fine.
What is a medic? »

[mementomoritz]

[The sign language takes a moment to register, like something sticking slightly in her brain. Maybe it's not a language she's as familiar with? At least that's one more thing she knows about herself, now. But it clicks enough to understand the question.]

Well, as I understand it, a medic is like a doctor, except that no one actually told them what they're doing is legally okay. [MEDIC NO.] They just get on in there and get the job done! Or at least enough of the job that no one dies immediately.

[Why... why do you know this. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR OWN NAME WHY DO YOU REMEMBER THAT.]

Do you have social anxiety? I think most of these people aren't aware of their surroundings and therefore can't judge your appearance or social status, if that helps.

[beknights]

[ They recognise some of those words in that second half but not a lot. But a medic is something like a doctor, it seems. That's...good? People must be fragile here, to need a doctor. ]

« I do not know
what anxiety is. »

[ There are certainly therapists out there in their world. They've never seen one and have no real idea what one is or what they would be for. ]

[mementomoritz]

[Without missing a beat:] A nervous disorder characterized by a state of excessive uneasiness and apprehension, typically with compulsive behavior or panic attacks.

[A dictionary-perfect definition, despite the fact that she can't remember anything about herself.] I wonder why that's general information for me and not for you? I don't think medics normally do mental health...

[She definitely didn't.]

[beknights]

[ Oh. That seems weirdly accurate. They're not sure how to feel about that. ]

« The words are different
Maybe.
I do not know. »