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3 mos ago
Unfathomably based
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Literally 1984 by Jorjor Well

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I would of I weren't swamped for rps rn.

When space clears up jump in ;)
Cough Cough Kuro didn't send me this way or anything for Dark Cloud
Little intro post is up! Character posts to follow, feel free to write your stuff in, I'll leave about a week until the big show begins, so try to get one post in, or a few if you're doing interactions perhaps. I can extend this time a bit more if people need be : D

Quinta District | Spring / 844

There was a sort of dampness in the air - an enriched residue that made a sweet, springtime syrup in the atmosphere. All things were tender, and beautiful, and as the sun had risen over the horizon from the East, there was a dainty tone of colour that coated the land. Alleyways remained in darkened shade, but the streets were blessed with a holy, ceremonious dawn. The early onlookers had gathered in the streets to set up market stalls, assorting colourful fruits beside commodities, books, papers and the excess, unsold clothing from last year's winter. Many people still slept in their warm beds or contemplated whether getting outside it was really all that necessary. It was, as easily put, the most ordinary of days, the usual hustle and bustle of the day-to-day life, just waking up, slowly.

The previous night, there'd been a theatre show. It was a small one, about four streets down from the garrison headquarters at the centre of the district. Now, the names of these plays were usually more famous to the local scenes and districts rather than the span of humanity, but the one in particular was a delightfully recognisable one: The Squirrel and The Bear. Now, the story wasn't much to ride off of, it was more a familial tragedy than something overly dramatic and thought provoking. It had a strange mix of sock puppetry and live action acting combined into one. Of course, no one really cared about the writer's intentions of its delusionary, paranoid ramblings of a cold, schizophrenic man, and had taken much joy out of the "out-of-norm" storytelling. It was hosted to a larger-than-usual crowd. The actors had their standing ovations from the families that had gathered, and many had stayed out late that night to celebrate the upswinging mood.

Down at the garrison headquarters, there was a detachment of military police officers. Some children had seen them as they walked past. Some smiled up to them, but many ignored them. No one really paid much attention to what they said or who they asked questions to, or even why they had arrived, but they were there, and it was the business of the military to deal with, not the common man, woman or child of the citizenry.

Four days ago, the Scouting Legion had come back, with bruises no less. There was at first a great buzz surrounding their return. Whose family had lost someone, and whose would be next - that sort of stuff. The grieving ended though by the second day. It was the usual. Each month, those brave souls would wander out there, somewhere, and come back in states of injury never quite seen before. They had to sneak the cart of dead men in the night after, just to be sure. One night, there was a cannon shot - indicative of a titan spotted somewhere in the outer walls, where small villages and homesteads sometimes sat. There wasn't much that could be done to ensure their security, but the Stationary Guard were kind enough to help if they were available.

It was one of those things of the outside world. People feared the idea of the titan, but not what it really was. It was just something out there, beyond the walls, ever roaming and - to even some - a potential farce. But who cared, the casualties of the military were light enough to prove that something lurked out there. And thank every goddess and deity - they did - that it was kept that way, to the quietest parts of human history.

It was still in the early hours. About seven in the morning in fact. The sun had risen but not quite above the walls themselves, where they lingered and tried to claw their way over. More citizens had entered the streets for the early morning catch of shopping and socialising. It was a loving, great time. At one end of the street, a woman snuck out a man's window, and on the other side, two argued over the way the weather was supposed to be, instead of its sunniest, almost cloudless state it was at then. A red sky hung over the morning. Things were calm. Ever so calm. As though they were to be for the last time, and the tail end of history itself.
Tenth post is up. Next update is on the 29th.

Or is it?

His autopilot was based on fear. Fingernails dug into the sand as he breathlessly dragged his scorched, tormented imagination across the island, toward the spring. There was not a clear set of emotions laid across his face. He drooped and staggered in his blinks, and his breath was akin to suffocation. Franciszek had callousness all across his skin, his mind and soul. So harshly did his chest burn, as though it were a pressurised valve awaiting eruption. Sickness plagued him from within. How much more could it hurt? As if he were allergic to the beach itself, everything was in accordance to a horrific reaction. The amphibian and its demise, the relished power of some other no-name's of his, all mixed in how brilliantly or sourly they relished in their abilities. There was no explanation. It was a cosmic confusion, a horror of the unknown and by all cases it terrified the living hell out of the boy. He was quiet. Alone even. A soul that hadn't been paid even in pittance. He was there, soulless. His contributions were like gales in a storm. So he crawled, onward ahead, as he isolated further away to the island spring.

The water was still. Whenever he looked at it, there was no way to tell if it looked right at all. Something, if not everything, felt off. It was like an translucent pane of glass, awaiting its shatter. His fingers touched it and he confused its calm for aggression. He withdrew his hand and gagged on his own spit. Not one shade of comfort - the island had made its way through him. He despised it, and it despised him. There wasn't a way to comprehend any of the madness around him. How could he accept something so heinously against reality, so vicious in its mockery towards all that is normal? He ran his hand back into the spring. It burned again, like acid to skin, yet he kept going. He crawled further, and further, to escape it all, as with the spring came the allure of freedom. Yet after what he'd seen, what he'd felt, the doubtless sense that it was never a dream, was it possible to be free, and true, to remove himself from what he'd seen?

"Just take me home..." A voice inside of him rebuked it, and asked him to stay, but Franciszek's body did everything else to let that notion go forth. He crawled into the spring.

Back into the burning depths he went. In a downward spiral his body twisted and turned as the descent became a burning ascent. The further up he rose, he twirled upward into the burning heat of the water. He trusted himself enough not to scream and drown, and the submersion ended in the blink of a watered eye. Franciszek emerged in a blur, in a far more familiar place - a stall, with several pencil scribbles on the wall, and with a confused mess latched onto his head. His body was soaked and his heart was ablaze. But he did not get up. He gasped, in a panic, then settled, and Franciszek spent a while sat, with his legs against his chest, back to the stall wall, and he breathed slowly.
I'll do a bit of the writing tomorrow but I'm not sure if I'll post it yet. If I do, it's no worry, the RP is one of those ones where a character can be introduced at almost any point tbh lmao
<Snipped quote by FalloutJack>

To be fair stuff hasn't even started the RP yet so she'd have time regardless

IC post progress speeding up now
Alrighty, I'll aim to get the first IC post out in a couple of days / around the end of the week, to give some more time for people : )
@Yam I Am@Bartimaeus Accepting ya two too!
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