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The Place; A spiritual successor to a really neat idea, no living allowed!
Topic Started: Oct 2 2013, 08:45 PM (1,947 Views)
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Mains Shaggy Verde
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The outside is beautiful for those who eventually awake to it's sight, a large building the size of a skyscraper and some kind of mix between the Disney castle and a Tinsel-Town, surrounded by snow fields that seem to go on forever and a permanent night sky.

The inside is even more spacious as the outside would let you believe. The lobby seems to have everything one would need while they stay in Limbo, for lack of a more familiar term. Bubbly jacuzzi, large deep pool, Pool and Foosball tables, a bar, etc. All under sickly white lighting and rested on black shag carpeting and against beige walls with purple diamond patterns.

Direct opposite of the entrance, clear for all who step inside, a large purple door stands out, where a slightly less larger but imposing...specimen, crossed armed and shrouded in bleak cloth stands beside by it. Rather then guarding it, they seem to be waiting. Above the door, there is a golden plaque that reads "Hereafter".

At the aforementioned bar, stands a lone man, balding with a whispy white beard, food and beverages of many willing behind him. He stands tall and lean, with a sharp face and a grave voice, heard after every time he sighs as he crosses a black X across another fallen. The 40th time had come so early to him.

A certain corner had a noticeable attraction: TVs. 152 in all, each one devoted to an individual victim of the SOTF act, all aligned together in alphabetical order, cozy recliner chairs backed to the wall in situation should one wish to watch a classmate in comfort, remotes placed on the counter that held the table, allowing the viewer to either rewind, pause, and most anything else that a regular remote would have.

A large staircase leads to a large hall with many rooms, also 152 in number and aligned in alphabetical order. Each room has one bed and a window, allowing for needless sleep and the chance to watch the infinite night should one choose so.

So here the dead come, external wounds healed, their realizations follow, where they will bide, till either the end they choose comes or till the "event" ends.

((OOC: Afterlife meet up, V5 edition. For the sake of ease and common sense, no posting order needed))
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Espi
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Death By Truth
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Nina Clarke was...not entirely sure what to think of this.

Her family wasn't particularly involved in religious stuff one way or the other. They weren't atheist, weren't super-devout, it just never really factored into their daily lives. Nina, personally, figured other people could believe in whatever the damn well felt like as long as they kept it their business. She didn't care about people's religion as long as they didn't shove it in her face, so she didn't really think about the afterlife much.

Hell, even faced with a high chance of death, it wasn't that big of a deal. Nina had thought of dying a lot on that fucking island, but not much about what came after.

The girl sat, legs drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around them, in a red chair. Her face stared forward, expressionless, at the wall of screens. She couldn't bear to watch, so she wasn't; it was just distraction, a background noise to fill her mind. She couldn't believe this. She...she'd done something, something unacceptable, she'd tried to kill another girl who'd really done nothing to her. Call it stress, call it the situation, whatever you call it she had tried to murder someone.

Could she forgive herself?

But, more importantly, would she be let into Heaven or Nirvana or whatever? She was dead. DEAD. It was like a TV show; she was in Purgatory or something, and any second someone would come into the room and ask her name and a cool intro would play or something. There were other people here, too, but Nina paid no attention to anything but the screen and her own mind.

Death...it wasn't something she liked. It was lonely, depressing, and it was scary.

Nina was scared right now. She didn't know what was going to happen. And for someone like her, someone confident who tried so hard to be prepared and in control, that was potentially the scariest thing of all.
V5: Cut Short


V6: Broken Down


V7: Unprepared
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Venice Pennington-Johannes: Deceased G016 - V5 - Continued From The Unlucky Clover Field))

Heavy.

Her head was engulfed by the false familiar smell of chlorine and the feeling of cool water, the rest of her body on the outside, lying on the tiles. Her eyes weren't strained and her vision wasn't blurred, so she felt it was odd that her hair was so heavy, being weighed down as it absorbed the water.

"I'm going nuts."

Perhaps dying did that to a person. She wasn't being herself, as for once, Venice didn't feel like talking to anybody.

She should have been happy, she thought. Friends of hers should be here now.

Yeah, Amy was here now, wasn't she? Venice hadn't got together with her yet, but she knew she had to be here. Shouldn't that make her happy? She had watched Amy, watched her lose the people at the cove, watched as Amy looked for Venice, watcher her cry, watched her drown.

Drown. In that ugly, murky water, disappearing under that filth. Because of that filth. Because Venice had made her, made her watch over her things that couldn't help her anymore.

She pushed the rest of her body off the tiles and into the water, tumbling and spiraling slowly down. She held herself somewhere in right dap of who knows in what seemed an endless pit, surrounded by beautiful blue and her lonesome.

Unclean.
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dmboogie
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A Delicate Machine
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Daniel Whitten: Contemplation, Begin.

...Would have made a rather nice header for this chapter of his life, Daniel figured. Simple. Solemn. It wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time. He'd done a lot of thinking, ever since he woke up outside the place.

It had taken quite some time for him to fully come to terms with what had happened. One second he was apologizing to the girl who had run into him, the next, he had found himself in front of a rather fancy, almost entirely deserted luxury hotel thing. For lack of any other foreseeable causes, he had figured that he had either gone completely insane or been abducted by some benevolent, higher form of life that had a soft spot for bookworms, which were of course equally likely possibilities. You had to keep your mind open and optimistic, after all.

It hadn't been until he saw the footage of himself being shot that he truly accepted where he was. Daniel had just sort of stared at his corpse for a couple hours. Not exactly a sight he had ever expected to see, but seeing that he was still around to see it, Daniel couldn't really complain.

Admittedly, Daniel would have expected the afterlife (purgatory? Theology was terribly confusing.) to be a tad more dignified, but there were worse fates than to be left sitting in a very comfortable chair, sipping various sodas. He hadn't felt brave enough to try any of the alcohol, even though it couldn't exactly hurt his health anymore. The habit of maintaining a living body was a hard one to break, he supposed.

This laid-back approach to death hadn't lasted past the first day.

Despite his aversion to violence, Daniel had been worried enough about his friends to keep an eye on them through the various television screens. Michael, Rachsel, and Tim were still unhurt, much to his relief, but it had torn Daniel up to see the latter two's reaction to his death. It was the most utterly terrible thing in the world, to have someone cry because of you.

Daniel was almost glad that they hadn't told Michael, as terrible a thing as it was to do. It was selfish, he knew, but he didn't want to see his best friend be put through that pain, inevitable as it may be. Daniel'd really screwed everything up, hadn't he? Alex, Carlon, and Naomi had all died. If he had just moved a little to the side, if he had somehow managed to survive, could he have done anything to help them?

He was worthless, really. Daniel had talked of finding a way off the island, of getting everyone out alive, but all he had managed to do was get himself killed within his first two hours on the island and put his friends though a lot of pain. Despicable, Daniel, despicable. He was truly the most unambiguously heroic paragon of justice to ever grace the fair earth.

Daniel spent a long time after each of the announcements trapped in a vicious cycle of self-loathing, each one a reminder of the friends he had failed. Eventually, he had managed to break free long enough to look around and see the girl sitting near him, appearing to be in a similar state to himself.

Daniel couldn't help his friends still trapped on the island. However, he could still talk to those with him, right? Try to provide a little bit of comfort, if possible? Daniel didn't really know Nina, but they all had the same thing uniting them now.

"Hello, Nina." Daniel said, walking up to her and smiling as gently as he could. "Would you mind some company? I think all of us here could all use a bit of friendly conversation."
a tribute for the dead and dying

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Espi
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Death By Truth
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Glomp GMing approved))

Nina looked up.

"D-Daniel?"

She leapt up and wrapped Daniel in an all-ensnaring hug.

"Oh my god, Daniel! I'm so sorry!"

A variety of colorful emotions flooded through Nina's mind. Joy that someone else was here, sadness that he was dead, too.

"Daniel...I..."

And crushing regret and despair that she had watched him die and run away like a coward.

"I saw you...after..."

She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to contain her emotions. She cried.

"I'm...I'm sorry."
Edited by Espi, Oct 4 2013, 04:53 PM.
V5: Cut Short


V6: Broken Down


V7: Unprepared
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KamiKaze
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Can you hear me?
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
It had been a while since anyone had seen anything of her.

Within a short period of time after arriving, she had disappeared inside one of the hotel rooms, and didn't come out. She didn't talk to anyone, she didn't even look outside. There was no way she was going to talk to anyone.

Everything she had done was hopeless.

Really, what was she expecting, honestly? It was just an idle dream, that she wanted to see happen. She had an idea of how hard it would be to accomplish something like that, but she didn't know how hopeless it truly was. She had tried to remain stubborn, but it didn't win her anything.

Even when she was injured, she kept going. And to what? She got not only herself killed, but someone who had been trying to help her as well. What was she even trying to do? She was trying to... it was pretty much murder she was attempting.

It was always said that she couldn't quit while she was ahead. Perhaps that was true. And that was why she was here.

When she had first shown up... here, it felt almost like waking up from a dream. Or maybe this was the dream. It was kind of surreal to find out there was an afterlife. There was one thing she hadn't wondered about too much when she was alive. It had always been about the now, or how she was going to spend the rest of her life. What came after that was never something that came across her mind, or at least that she can recall.

But, eventually she found herself opening the door, and peering around to see if anyone was there, she stepped out, her feet gently padding across the floor.

She still didn't feel like talking to anyone, but it still felt like she needed to stretch her legs more than she had been. It was strange, both that your legs would apparently need stretching after you die and having both your legs suddenly back to normal.

Staring down the spiral staircase, she took a deep breath.

And descended.

It was a nice Place, she had to admit. It was a shame she couldn't enjoy it.

She had finally reached the end.

Alexandria Ripley wasn't sure if she wanted to see who was down here with all the screens and pools and what have you. But sometimes, it was easier to just find out for yourself.

She just forced a smile across her face, the kind you make while being caught doing something "naughty" and have no idea how to react.

A lot of things could easily happen now that Alex was down here.
RICHARDS/BAINES OTP!

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Aloha
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Natalia herself had led a quiet life; one free of most forms of extreme emotion. Sure, she had her fair share of anxiety and fear and general teenage hormone-induced mood swings, but they were tolerable. They were nothing compared to what she was feeling before her own death.

It was panic, fear, acceptance and a whole slurry of emotions rolled up into one neat package. One given to everyone before the end of their life, each one personalized to their own deaths. Sometimes it's peaceful with a hint of sadness. Other times it's hateful and brooding. Other times it's merely idle, reserved for those who don't know they're about to die.

Either way, dying took away most of it. She felt calm, but nervous at the same time. It was dark and she was breathing hard, bracing herself for whatever was there. Eventually Natalia was able to coax her eyes open, and she was surprised to find herself in front of a magnificent building, awe inspiring and surreal at the same time. Without much else to do, she stepped in. A little glimmer of her hoped that it was all just a dream, that they were at this amazing hotel and that nobody had died. She hadn't died. And they'd all laugh over her silly morbid dream and enjoy their senior trip.

But then she caught a glimpse of her corpse on a TV screen, and was hit with the cold realization.

First emotion to come was disbelief. And then denial. Then confusion in quick succession. It took a long time for Natalia to stop looking at the screen and explore. She only made it as far as the bar before she got a drink, sat down and began to sip her root beer thoughtfully.

She'd have a lot of time to think.
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Mains Shaggy Verde
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The bartender began wiping the counter as another one came over with a thick white hankerchief. It didn't seem to have any point to it, and he realized it. The next one would just wet it again. Always so many tears. Still, he took a guess that some of the kids liked watching him clean. A sense of normalcy, if anything at all. Like in their movies.

He served the girl a root beer, he could always tell what they wanted, and looked upon some of the other children.

A boy and a girl were talking. Good. These kids only have each other now anyway. Across the way...

He smirked. It was a cruel smirk, he knew that. One of them was trying to drown themselves. He cupped his face with his hand and threw the smirk away.

It would be a lie to say the no child had attempted something similar. Sometimes, they succeeded. But it was always true that they-

Creek

Always come back. The door closed. The girl walked over to the pool again, clothes dry like when she first entered.

"You'll catch a cold that way." He barked.

She probably wouldn't.

He was shot a look. He knew he could be too mean sometimes.

"Just make sure to take it easy here. For yourselves, especially." He barked again to all the children.

The girl went back inside the pool anyway, but at least he could see the top of her scalp. For now.

He heard foot steps from the stairs. Not too hard, mostly quiet. He glanced out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, she was going to have to get out of that room sooner or later anyway. Even if she didn't like it. That smile showed all the negative around her.

He went back to cleaning the counter with the handkerchief.
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Mains Shaggy Verde
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Venice now simply floated, having to come to terms that there wasn't much to do with herself. Her hair wasn't so heavy anymore, it now seeming to have no feeling at all.

She kicked her legs, treading across the ends of the pool staring up at what seemed be some kind of lighting, her fingers combing through the waves that followed, try her best to count their numbers and patterns.

Venice sighed to herself, wondering if she had made too much of a pointless scene. She shrugged, unintentionally pushing her head to one of of the pool's tiled barriers.

"I guess it doesn't even matter."
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Dying, in retrospect, wasn't terribly painful. It was disorienting, to be sure, but he had been fortunate enough to localize his pain to a single wound, one that induced shock and forced him from consciousness quickly and without meaningful struggle. Even the brief second of distinct agony he'd felt when the blade first entered his body was comparatively pleasant contrasted alongside the deep, consuming ache that throbbed inside him upon catching Carlon's gaze.

Garrett had seen many emotions manipulate the young intellectual's face during their hours together. Most commonly, he saw joy, intrigue, curiosity, and satisfaction, with dashes of confusion, sadness, and frustration in rare, out of character moments. He wore a new countenance in his seat behind the broad chess table, though. As Garrett walked towards the man he'd come to regard as a portrait of compassion and goodwill, he found none of the characteristic warmth and energy he'd come to expect. Instead, his face was etched with something that looked dolorously like disappointment.

He had nowhere else to go. With a tense nod, he sat down across from Carlon, and found himself helplessly speechless. For now, there was nothing to do but wait in the harsh, inexorable chill of his disapproval.
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Imehal
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The Captain America of alien fighting.
[ *  *  * ]
Even now after everything he strived not to hate. Not the people that had kidnapped them all, not Alexandria for making a decision that had cost them both their lives. Not Makatala for defending herself. He had watched a few screens since, muttered a brief prayer every time one screen went off – another death closer to the end of this torturous game. The way he sat there observing his friends was almost masochistic, helpless as he was as they planned, fought and refused to succumb.

For a little while he cheered them on – willed them to fight without violence. When Camilla had found Garrett he had been relieved. There was a friend he wished he could have said goodbye to, but her finding him was the next best thing. With him, at least, the girl that he had had wanted to keep with him and Alexandria would be safe, protected from those who would do her harm. He had found Mirabella, shattered like fine porcelain, and together they gave him hope. Here their love endured. Here, as he caught glimpses of Hansel’s continued brutality – of Theodore’s attempts at redemption – there was at least one thing that had not been changed by all this. That was something Garrett could - would - protect, Carlon was sure.

And now here stood his friend, looking at Carlon as if he had struck the killing blow himself. Not another lost soul that had fallen in line with the game without protest. He looked so hurt, so defeated that Carlon almost gave him to what came almost naturally. He wanted to hug his friend, to tell him that everything would be alright – that Mirabella would be strong. He wanted to cry and tell him about Daniel, and Michael’s obliviousness. He wanted his friend. But it took only a moment to remember what this man who wore Garrett's face - that Carlon no longer recognised - had done. That he had the blood of a player on his hands, and he nearly killed a second before his own time had been cut short.

Posture stiff, Carlon refused to let his gaze fall to the pieces between them and give his opponent any reprieve. The disassociation helped him force out the difficult words – the questions that he had feared to ask when alive. “Garrett,” he started quietly, voice tight and emotionless, taking a breath as he loosened his right hand’s fist to reaching a hand within sight to move a little white pawn forward two spaces. “What good did you do murdering Jaquilyn Locke?”
Edited by Imehal, Mar 12 2014, 06:41 PM.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Garrett remained quiet for a little while. He wasn't sure how long. It didn't seem important. Instead, he mulled Carlon's question, as if there were any words that could truly answer it. Back then, the reasons had all seemed so clear, but now, with perspective...

"Is she here?" That felt important. That felt solid, so he clung to it. "Because if she isn't, then that speaks for itself. But if she is..." His fingers wrapped around a black bishop on the chaotic board in front of him. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps Carlon had been playing against himself since his death. "Well. I think good and evil become irrelevant."

This wasn't the reunion he'd imagined. Still, understanding that his was the outcome they'd been headed for gave him a modicum of clarity. "I suspect she is, even if you haven't seen her. I suspect we all are. Max is here somewhere. So is Theo. So is Michelle. So is Carmina. So good, bad," he murmured as he dragged the bishop up to take Carlon's pawn. "Looking at all this, I have to wonder if those words have any meaning. If anything we did had a point beyond the experience itself."

He peered back up from the board. "Check."
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Imehal
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The Captain America of alien fighting.
[ *  *  * ]
Carlon, when given the question about Jaquilyn’s whereabouts, pointed upwards without a word. There had been shouting, blame tossed back and forth like it were the centrepiece in a game of hot potato. He had preferred to stay back here – the only person he had been willing to spend any time with since arriving here had been Daniel. Alexandria had been keeping her distance; he had been relieved about that. He would talk to her, but he had needed to do this first.

It took a while for Carlon to muster enough coherency to respond to Garrett’s musings – perhaps he was trying to justify everything to himself. Maybe it would, without him sitting across from him – even worked. He would have smiled once, just a little, at Garrett’s declaration, but everything his friend had said before left him feeling bereft, and though he did not feel entirely comfortable with it, angry.

“Hey, do me a favour?” Carlon lifted his remaining knight to come and claim the bishop that had threatened his king as nonchalantly as he could, but the piece came down hard, his grip unnaturally tight. “Tell me who the hell you are because you’re wearing Garrett’s face, but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

It was then that he realised just how much he had been pinning on this moment. How much he wanted for just one thing to not change, the way he had seen everything else fall away. The way he had watched friends and familiar faces alike fall, metaphorically and physically – each a casualty of a sadistic game that ripped the soul from even the most devout believers.

He had been anticipating this meeting, maybe even this very chess game, to restore some of that fractured faith. But Garrett was lost too, and that wounded Carlon more than he could find words to express.

“I mean, attacking Hansel, by yourself when you’d just promised Mirabella, let alone everyone else involved in your insane plans, that they had a purpose now?” He wanted to stop, to breathe, and feel something other than cold disappointment and hot anger, sending Carlon in a frenzy of thoughtless words – pure emotion. “That was stupid. You would have known better before. You should have known better now.”

Carlon stared Garrett down, breathing heavily even if it did not really help, eyes judging and mind waiting for a good reason to calm. “So you, whoever you are, can go on pretending that none of it mattered – that good and evil no longer exist, but it matters!” He stood now, needing movement, needing something that he did not really understand just yet, still watching Garrett like a hawk, “You wanted to kill those killers because you thought they were evil, and you believed that what you did was good. And that means you do not get to render the trials that everyone on that island that everyone is having to go through, killers and victims alike, as irrelevant!”
Edited by Imehal, Mar 15 2014, 06:50 PM.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The familiar, neutral mask slipped back over Garrett's face as he listened to Carlon's tirade. He looked back into his eyes with only the slightest hint of curiosity tainting his otherwise blank expression. Animalistic, alien movements dominated his old friend's demeanor now, and in a way that disturbed him more than anything else he'd seen. The decisions made below had an excuse, but this...

"What happened to you, Carlon? How did you become...this?" He stood now as well, looking the other boy up and down. "I changed? I changed? Of course I did."

There was an edge to his voice now. He was trying to restrain his anger. "Everyone changed down there. I can't think of one person I met who didn't make a hard decision."

The screens droned in the background as he nodded towards them. "Everyone lost someone, or was attacked, or attacked, or lost hope, because we were trapped and starved and exhausted until we broke. Except, even though you can see that from the outside, we can't even begin to process it. It's just a constant slide into desperation, and the only thing that changes is when exactly your utterly pointless death occurs."

His voice rose into a sharp point on the last word. Almost automatically, he stalked forward and kept returning fire. "I'm not going to argue that I did the right thing. But I did what I felt what I had to, to protect myself and the people I cared about, and you know what?" His finger flicked up towards Bella and Ami's screen. "I don't see them objecting."

He was inches from Carlon's face now. "So what I want to ask is how, after days up here in a place with no pain, or hunger, or constant fear, somehow managed to change more than any of us, and where the fuck you get off lecturing anyone on right and wrong when you have comparatively zero idea what we've been through."
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Southern motherfuckin' democratic republicans.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"For the love of all that is fuck, would you two quit your goddamn bitching!?"

To the right of the two, sitting at a counter that hadn't been there before - unless you really squinted - sat a boy in a blue jersey, the number 67 emblazoned on the back. He swiveled in his high-backed stool, bearded face coming fully into view of the two chess players, his countenance dark, menacing.

In Baxter's hand, a plastic bottle was clenched.

He had listened to the two debate and poke and be righteous with percieved fury and held his tongue, but it was only after Carlon's response to Garrett's latest statement of how nobody changed that he decided to jump in, a scowl on his face. Quickly, he glanced at the game of chess, and just as quickly dismissed it as nerd shit before continuing.

"Holy christdicks, I can't believe I'm the one that needs to spell this shit out for you fuckheads. You're literally in the one place that's supposed to be free of judgement of peers and posturing - we've finally been given some fucking peace and some respite from what happened down there. And what the fuck do you two morons immediately do? Go at each other."

Baxter laughed, shaking his head, and rose from the stool to stalk off.

"Move the fuck on."
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