♛ ▌1 0 0 D A Y S ❣ 【OOC】

tb your image doesn't show for billy bob

 

It shows for me.~ Just had to refresh.

 

I READ 'BILLY BOB' AS 'BILLY BOOB'.

 

Full Name: Septimus Solo
Appearance: Here
Age: 17
Likes: Silence, things going according to plan, finishing off a task, music
Dislikes:Unnecessary noise, rashness, too much company
Weaknesses/Fears: To fail what he set out to do before death
Strengths/Talents: Analytical and strong
Personality: Septimus is a cold and antisocial person. If needed be he will be ruthless and heartless but he does his best to keep a calm and tanquil mind. So long as you do not trouble him he will not trouble you.
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Contact Information:
Favorite Color: Black

 

i didn't rejoin yet and someone probably already thought of this but maybe by making deals [ unless there's another way to do it ] that makes a big enough shift the the gameboard to cause cracks enough times can help to break it? feels like that wouldnt be enough but apart of it maybe unless im thinking wrong. a memory deal sounds like one to remember people regardless of if their existence is erased or events change too sounds helpful for that

my two cents anyway

 

The Girl in Watercolors - Excerpt from Chapter 3

III.​

From time to time, I just used to wander the halls of the Academy. Aimless, like a ghost.
It was a marginally enormous place, after all. Even though it had been two months since they started grooming me; two months since I had laid my feet upon the cold granite stones of the Academy's musty front square, which gave off the smell of totalitarian indifference and medieval temperance, the enigmatic buildings of this convulsing, convoluted Gothic nightmare stood out like dragon's teeth among the eternally smoky sky. And from my dorm room far off at the end by the Lot, where the rest of the girls with questionable origins remained, I would have spent my time reading the stacks of books Ingrid had retrieved from the library -- even though she never read them, what a busy roommate -- or looking out the wide, arched window towards the forest of stone spines. Of course, that changed when I decided to move out of my cramped little room with its dusty mahogany floors and flickering carbon bulbs and creaky double-set two-poster beds that bore the mountains of Ingrid's books.
I am not sure when my curiosity was lit, but it was probably upon remembering two things. These two things were little instances that stuck to my mind like slips of ripped, stringy paper floating on muddy water. They collected the dirt and the liquid and admonished the carefree pedigree of my well-stored memories.
The first was reading through one of Ingrid's old natural history textbooks. Another night she was not here, another night I was alone. She appeared to only visit the room when I was asleep, and thus, in my entire career at Melpomene Academy, never once did I glance upon the face of the mysterious Ingrid Decamargue, and to me she served only as the riverboat of my knowledge of the outside world. Suffice to say, her untimely death hit me little beyond locking me out of my passage to the wide world, and forcing me to step outside of the room.
But that day was not such a day. I sat upon Ingrid's untouched bed, surrounded by the yellowing tomes from the long-off library, my delicately scarred legs dangling away off the edge of the smooth wood. The rain, as often coming as it were grey, would pitter-patter against the wide arched window, and kept my thoughts upon the book as the storm applauded my efforts in trying to learn with all of the entrapment that caged me like a bird for the past two months. I fashioned myself a rather quick reader, so it took me naught but a few hours until I reached the section of the old book dealing with actual natural history examples.
Birds and animals would leap from the page. Entire trees grew out from the corners, overtaking the room with an immense stoicism. And through them would leap and glide the monkeys that would cling to branches and walls and try and stroke tough leathery fingers through my black hair. The birds would fly out violently and torpedo towards the ceilings or the windows, they too, like trapped birds in a cage, desperately trying to escape this room, but they settled upon calm chirps and loud gawks at the condition of the walls' decay. Then came the stones, the granite and the marble and the rolling gneiss that waltzed with the schist. The floor turned to soft black earth that pricked my small, delicate toes, and armies of rodents would scurry about the bed and the ceiling.
Then I would flip a page, and everything would come crashing towards the floor. The monkeys would exit the room, the birds would hide beneath the bed with the rodents, and the soft earth would sift away by the crafty wind's hands to reveal a dusty desert beneath. I would feel pricks at my back, and turn around in surprise, realizing that cacti had punctured the remains of poor Ingrid's bed. Snickers and slithers would climb by my leg while the harsh yelps of desert foxes filled the room. And then I would flip a page, and everything would come crashing towards the floor.
But among the many thousands of images these textbooks had of the world that seemed to exist beyond the borders of Melpomene; the world I had no taste of, nor part in, they all seemed alien and unreal. Deserts. Rainforests. Vast grasslands, where the plains were empty and only the sound of one's voice could be heard. They existed, but they existed to me, and to the girls of Melpomene, as a world beyond the lens of the Academy and the City that surrounded it. That is, with one exception.
It was getting late, and the skies were black from smoke and shadow, but the rain was diligent and rapacious with its continued attempts to enter the window. When I turned the page, and the cacophony imploded back towards the confines of my perception, I realized that the next page was something I could easily imagine.
The room had no changes. All was here as it were, and all was here as it would be. The creaky beds, the mountains of books, the mahogany floor, and the rain's nocturnal compositions. Not a soul nor a rock stood through or behind me, and the silence upon looking at this image was absolutely eerie.
It was the picture of an immensely familiar place. Thousands upon thousands of jagged, granite spires rose out of the earth like a hellish set of shark's teeth, covered here and there by a few trees and moss, but otherwise bare and naked to the raw intensity of the earth and sky. They stood silent and imposing, almost like trees, but looked upward to mock and deride the heavens with such hubris that I thought these rocky arrowheads were the creation of humanity. But when I read the block of text below, and learned that this place was not only a pure Eden of death crafted by Nature herself, but was virtually unapproachable and inhospitable to human life, I then realized the true extent of how much this -- "Tsingy de Bemahara Na-- Nation-- National Park" -- was much like our very own Melpomene.
How sudden! Could there exist a world where the spires of Melpomene seemed to meld with nature itself? This very picture of the Tsingy de Bemahara -- which, to this day, I still cannot pronounce properly in the Malagasy accent -- was perhaps the spark that ignited the candle of exploration in my brain. I closed the large natural history tome with a feeling of lukewarm satisfaction. The world was behind a lens, but here was one setting that seemed to exist not in some sort of virtual dream-state, but right outside the window. From beyond that point, I would constantly look outside the window and glance at the hundreds of Melpomene Academy buildings that stood on-guard across the vast square. And I would tell myself that I shall explore and learn about the world.
Would I find Ingrid there? I would not know.

And so, I would wander the halls of Melpomene, aimless, like a ghost.
Often times, it was at hours where the other girls of the vast academy were elsewhere in the buildings, and I was left alone to my machinations and adventures. Not a soul would disturb me in my journey through the granite vaults of the school, where the only living things were the flickering lights that squatted in carbon bulbs along the wall. I was free to roam and free to explore, and for the first time, my fear had not trapped my heart in the cage that was my room, and I could venture into the world without the fear of the incessant judgment of the others. I knew the schedules by heart, and I knew when to avoid, like a rat who hid in crevices. In my adventures, I would occasionally catch the glance of a lone janitor or two, but I was careful on my feat, and avoided the prolong wonder of those stocky, lumbering beasts.
The closest buildings were the easiest to visit. They were the emptiest, where only a few Professors made their homes, and they were those who taught the political sciences and economics, so most of the times I found them sleeping soundly by their desks. I had little idea where Ingrid's mysterious library could be, and I decided to make that elusive building the end-point x-mark of my adventure through the school. Aimless, like a ghost, yes. But what made me most like a phantom was how my very meager existence served to show my appearance to the outside world because I had a reason for wandering these halls.
I would walk high and low. The Academy was very much a maze in three dimensions, one that threatened to kill you doubly with the possibility of losing yourself among the granite columns and marble teeth, and the possibility of meeting another student. A war zone that fought itself among the walls in close combat, and I often times stood and sidled by the walls attempting to avoid the cast shadows of a few stray girls who were trying to talk about the latest something-or-other. The stairs were old and chunky, the wooden doors leading into rooms were fraying into dried blackened wood, and the hundreds of windows lining the hallways, the ones that looked downwards into the school squares below, would be struck wet with the million bullets of rain, left to rot as a bleak glassy corpse through the grey light of the overcast sky above. I realized, after my ears eventually tired of the tap-tap of my nicely-polished black slippers upon the cold stone floor, that this forest of spires was larger than I imagined, and it would take longer and longer to return to the comfort of my dorm room each night. I had to push forward to find the vault of knowledge that was the library in a more effective way.

One evening, it soon dawned upon me that I had become lost.
I knew the maps of the Lot well, but at this point I was in one of the unfamiliar hallways of the decaying old Thalia Camera, one of the larger halls dedicated to economics in the Academy. Of course, it was empty this late at night, and the darkness of the evening did not frighten me even if it did throw murky, ambiguous shadows of ethereal, jagged beings that seemed to float upon the walls. In the rain, the lights would flicker, and I found my tap-tap growing weaker and slower, as if my heartbeat cracked with doubt and uncertainty. I, again, was slowly becoming a victim of my own cage of fear. I was lost, I was most certainly lost, and by this point, the grey granite walls would wake up beastly and twisted, and start snapping at me.
I would glance around, realizing I had nowhere to run or to leave, and the world began to collapse around me. My head suddenly pounded with an inky dread that left my throat dry, and my lip trembling. My mind squeezed under weight and pressure, and my breath grew coarse and thick. The hand of despair slowly tip-toed along my heart before tightly constricting it in its choke-hold grasp. So I ran. I ran somewhere,
knowing not where to go. I ran, and the walls twisted and barked at me. They formed into swirls and spirals and tried kicking at me with their legs or biting at me with their sharp teeth. The thunder was loud and the light was too bright, and the cry of the rain began to besiege my skull. I wanted to call out for help, but my feet refused. And there was nobody. I was alone, but it seemed to affect me the least.
I do not know how long I ran for, but the demonic lurching would grow worse and worse. My breath collapsed and my lungs fell upon their side. My black shoes tripped, as if giving way to the fear, and as another strike of lightning hit the hall with a blinding megaton of light, I fell hard to the ground, the apathetic granite floor smashing violently into my side and sending vibrations through my entire body. And this is where I met the second instance that piqued my curiosity.
"... Who're you?"
At the time, I couldn't see. My face was to the floor, and I had my eyes tightly shut. Oh-- oh no. I wanted to lift my face. I really did. But someone found me. Who was this? Who was wandering Melpomene so late at night?
"Can't you speak? You ain't okay? Huh? Miss'un? Miss'un?"
No. No, please leave ... I can work on this myself. Please leave. I can't get up if you don't leave.
And yet at the time I felt a stew of emotions brewing in my heart. The granite seemed to revert away from its barks, and its fangs morphed back into the normal spiked vaults they were. The rain was once again familiar, and the stone seemed less cold. Was it because there was this mysterious person--
Ack.
Suddenly, I felt a hand upon my shoulder. Cold, leathery--
I yelped loudly and turned over on my side to face the imminent demon, hissing and lowering my brow. No! No, this thing better get away.
But as I looked up, it was not a demon that stared at me, but some sort of old lady. She wore the black dress of the Melpomene staff, particularly with the silver crest of the Lot, and stared at me callously through thick spectacles. A red head scarf tied her wiry copper hair back and hid it neatly. The hand she used to touch my shoulder was suspended in the air, and if not for her tanned, wrinkled face, she would have appeared very much like an unblinking marble statue.
I glanced at her, with wide eyes. Oh no. Oh no oh no--
But the statue suddenly came to life, and she moved her hand slowly away as her eyes languidly scanned my frail body with its few scars upon the legs and the dusty old school uniform.
"Pardon me, miss'un," she began. "We dinnae of'en get the lassies up late this here, y'see? What're you up so late? Curfew's past curfew, y'hear!"
Although her tone seemed harsh and scolding, her face betrayed her sheer amusement at the situation. I tried to speak up, but a ball of fear caught my throat.
"Wha's that?" She cocked her head sideways and lowered her ear closer to my mouth with the mechanical precision of ancient clockwork. "Y'say something? I cannae hear y'well, y'know? Yer a strangey-strange lassie for bein' up this late. Take ma' hand."
She extended her wrinkly hand to me. She seemed kind enough, but no, I-- I didn't--
I stood up slowly myself, avoiding her hand, and swiped my own pair along my tartan skirt to rid of the floor's dust. The rain continued to pound against the window, and while the lady looked kindly enough, I didn't want to be here. I just wanted to go home. Go back to the saftey of the books and the dorm room ...
"Aaah, y'look worried," the lady suddenly said. "You ain't look like you've-a been 'round these here parts, eh? Ah-ha! Strangey-strange, gotta say, since you've got here ol' the crest of the Lot too." The woman let out a soft chuckle. I slowly began to back away.
"Wha's that?" The woman suddenly grew suspicious at my back step. "Now now, chile' I dinnae gonna hurt ya! That's not what a head librarian do!"
Wait.
Head librarian?
"I'll walk you back to yer room. Now that you don't mention a thing, I've gotta say I ain't usually seen you 'round these parts anyway. At all! Not even in the library! And we's a got a lotta darn-settin' lassies from the Lot all hankerin' up there."
"...Ingrid." I whispered. My voice was as coarse and tight as the granite.
"Wha'?" She tilted her head to hear again.
Come on. Try louder.
"... Ingrid."
"In-- Ingrid?"
The woman's eyes grew wide upon repeating Ingrid's name, even if they were hard to see behind her misty spectacles. They were kind eyes, the sort of grey and blue that you found in trusting octogenarians, but I felt a shiver down my spine as I looked into them.
She turned away, and looked at the window. For a long time, she was silent, and only the rain kept us company.
But suddenly, she looked back at me, and her face was both solemn and expressionless. Had I done something to warrant this sudden change in disposition. Ah-- my legs began to shake, and I tried to hide my hands behind my back and play with my fingers.
"Commae then. The library's to yer ol' west of me by this hall, and it's open so you ain't need me a thing, Mistral. Go on, then."
Mis-- Mistral--
My heart solidified into ice. This-- this lady knew my name?

 

If you've got something to do before morning-morning in the RP(like 8am), please do it before I post next. My next post will be a minor time skip to everyone waking up. Do not worry about writing your character going to sleep, if you don't want to. #peaceout

 

Today is day 3/3. Hurry your asses to finish your day, please. Do what you can to progress things.​

 

Full Name: Jonathan "Johnny" B. Anders
Appearance: Here
Age: 17
Likes: Anime, Manga, Video Games, Music, Movies, Books, Documentaries, Cooking, Science, Nature, Watching the Sunset, Technology, Star Gazing
Dislikes: Neon Colors, Large Crowds, Loud mouthed people, People who cheat others, Gamblers, Liars, When people cry in front of him, People who treat others like dirt
Weaknesses/Fears: Being left alone, Highly emotional, Being unable to do anything, Quick to jump to conclusions
Strengths/Talents: Running, Climbing, Resourceful, First Aid, Cooking
Personality: For the most part, he is very quiet and composed, speaking only when he is spoken to or when he needs information. When he sees someone crying, he will go up to them and attempt to comfort them the best he can. However, whenever he gets riled up or sees something that makes him angry, his temper gets the better of him and he becomes extremely violent.
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Contact Information: http://destinysplaything.tumblr.com
Favorite Color: Maroon

 

Thanks for joining!! Accepted! 8)

I fixed the zerochan link, but it doesn't allow hotlinking so you should just link to the page you see the picture on instead of the direct image. <':

 

YOU HOTLINKED TO ZEROCHAN.​

​

YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT.​

 

Oh... my bad... I didn't know...

 

IT'S OKAY. JUST IGNORE HER. SHE TENDS TO LASH OUT UNCONTROLLABLY.

 

Honestly, don't worry about it, haha. It's a common mistake. Added you to the Skype group!

 

Thread locked until further notice. Maybe tomorrow.​

 

We already talked about it in the chat, but I'm plannin' on having a movie night soon. Wondering if it would be better for people for me to stream it and us to watch, or for all of us to purchase / obtain the movie and just try to click in sync (via Skype call or something).

I don't need to hear any specifics, just vote on the poll pls.

 

What if you're not in Days anymore but still want to join the movie night.

It hasn't happened already has it.

 

Reopening the main thread and closing the RP to new applicants, meaning I am no longer accepting new role players. ​