paradisa

[After spending long enough wandering around the castle and being weirded out, Klavier has finally decided to try out this public speaking forum the rest of you all seem so fond of, and dictate an entry to the castle at large.]

I must admit...I'm not sure I'm convinced yet that this place isn't a dream. I thought perhaps I was growing accustomed to it, until...this.

[Dishes clink in the background - Klavier is in the kitchen, not because he particularly wants to be in public with the luminescent blue spectacle markings around his eyes and the black ink top hat on his hand, but because for some reason today the castle has decided not to grant any of his wishes for food, and he's hungry.]

But dream or not...achtung, it is so very hard to present evidence one way or another, ja? So, when reality itself is in doubt, what is there to do but move forward?

And speaking of moving forward...I must admit, I'm terribly curious. When I left home - on Earth - it was 2026...and what of the rest of you? It's strange to think that if I were to meet some of you at home, you might be much older or younger than here.

((backdated to before the elephants, open to the kitchen.))

sangkhan

[ Are you all cowering in your rooms yet?

Stains may not seep under doors but doors are easily brought down, as proven by the seven vividly painted elephants now roaming your hallways, baying for you to come out or they might start knocking.

For the more socially inclined, residents may now stumble over super soakers and water guns and look more of them somewhere in their vicinity. These babies are locked and loaded, ready to go, and they will never run out of water. The best part, of course, is that they will wash away any and all stains --but only if used on another person.

Remember now, both Heaven and Hell have long spoons. ]

SECTIONS: CASTLE ROOMS | LOBBY | GROUNDS | CITY ROYALE | OUTER AREAS

[ ooc; feel free to put up your own sections! ]

foolreversed

( private tl;dr action )

[for the moment you can find Adachi in the castle lobby. He isn't trying to hide his hands, so the blood covered palms are out for everyone to see, along with the weird, rope burn like marks on his wrists. He has the journal out, and his pet Shadow decided to follow him along.

He speaks kind of absently and awkwardly, as if trying to figure out how to best get to his real intent]

Man, I really dodged a bullet when I moved back to the castle huh... Earthquakes were regular back home, but they're still pretty scary...

...I'm going to go out to the town. Check out just how bad my old apartment got it. Maybe... do other things... [he doesn't want to outright say "help" or anything, that embarrasses him ok]

If anyone wants to join me, I'll be waiting in the lobby for a little while. [a pause] I won't judge anything I might see.

[there's an emphasis on that last part. He doesn't care what your stain says about you right now, he's got it no better.]

workaphilic

[He spent the first full day locked in his room.

He didn't even try to wash it away. The outburst on the journals, with the way the stain faded against his skin -- it was clearly something not meant to be washed away. Streaks of red across his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his ear. Like he'd fallen from a great height and smashed his head against the ground.

He spent hours in front of the mirror, staring at himself. He can see the castle's little joke. "Blood" a shade too bright, close enough to be mistaken, but to a discerning eye.... To his eyes, perfectly trained, it looks like betrayal plain on his face.

He hasn't eaten, he hasn't slept.

On the second day, he doesn't care.

He goes about his business. He tends to his bees, he collects (steals) supplies from around the castle, back straight and eyes hard like he doesn't look like he made himself into a crime scene.

In the kitchen, sitting on the counter eating an apple, he opens the journal in his lap to read. Eventually, when he speaks, his tone is flat and bored.]

It isn't actually required that everyone come up with a sermon. As a reminder.

((Open over the journal or in person, if you like!))

theabjectauthor

[Lemony had had a rather rude awakening, that morning, helping Jane cope with recent developments, and once they had determined that she wasn't going to die, it was short work to open the journal and realize what was happening. now back in his room, he opens his journal and begins to write - and as he does, droplets of ink spatter the page. nothing as intrusive or drastic as blood, but there, nonetheless - telling, hovering around his every word]

Good afternoon, everyone,

I know that we are all being forced to deal with our pasts, today, in one form or another, and some have offered words of comfort ... but when we are left feeling uncomfortable, sometimes only truth remains.

One of the most difficult things to think about in life is one's regrets. Something will happen to you, and you will do the wrong thing, and for years afterward you will wish you had done something different. But occasionally, events in one's life become clearer through the prism of experience, a phrase which simply means that things tend to become clearer as time goes on. For instance, when a person is just born, they usually have no idea what curtains are and spend a great deal of their first months wondering why on earth Mommy and Daddy have hung large pieces of cloth over each window in the nursery. But as the person grows older, the idea of curtains becomes clearer through the prism of experience. The person will learn the word "curtains" and notice that they are actually quite handy for keeping a room dark when it is time to sleep, and for decorating an otherwise boring window area. Eventually, they will entirely accept the idea of curtains, and may even purchase some curtains of their own, or venetian blinds, and it is all due to the prism of experience. So with this in mind, if the events which have stained you transpired - a word which here means "took place, causing great distress, trauma, and regret" - quite a long time ago, you may want to try and view them through your own prism of experience and see if they look a little less troublesome. If they do not, then I am sorry, but I cannot make the world any less of a horrible place than it already is, and some horrible things will remain horrible until the end of time, much in the same way that some sweetened processed foodstuffs will remain sweetened processed foodstuffs even while buried under refuse in a landfill, at which point they would no longer be appetizing anyway. Really, it's just as well you leave them alone, at that point, and find something more pleasant to digest.

That being said, I have discovered Raine Sage's notes upon the world of Paradisa and its phenomenon, and am studying them in anticipation of our upcoming expedition. I would appreciate input from anyone who has been on past trips beyond the Dead Zone, as your own prism of experience would help me give a little more depth and breadth to the information. The Professor was very thorough in her writing, and the notes seem to be organized by location, and then broken down into the following topics: Flora and Fauna, Architectural Styles, and Magic and Mana. In addition, she notes someplace called "Paradisa Town" as a potential spot for replenishing supplies, so if we shall be passing by in our travels, it is something to keep in mind - at least, for those of you who enjoy peaches and fish. I am currently researching several pleasant recipes involving both, so that we might be prepared. If any of you are allergic to either thing, please let me know so that I can bring the means for some form of alternative dish.

I will be in my room preparing for the expedition, if any of you wish to speak with me - and I will completely understand if you would rather not do so in person. We have many questions to answer, some raised over the course of the past week, and I would like to be prepared for the journey ahead. After all, there are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself.

With all due respect,

((A/N: A few of the lines in this post were respectfully requisitioned from the pages of Horseradish. If they seemed familiar, now you know why. ;D))

heirofficium

Augh, what the... That smell... Eugh...

[ Sirius wakes up to an awful stench that he doesn't quite recognize yet, a foul, old smell that reminds him of--

Oh, fuck.

Sirius knows this smell, and he thought he'd never have to smell it ever again. It's the smell of crazed ideology, magic you don't talk about in polite company, of younger brothers left behind.

He swears and picks up his journal, not even bothering to make a filter. ]

Right then, so if you value your sense of smell, stay away from room 726. Better yet, stay away from the seventh floor. Not sure how strong this is.

[ Of course he's making light of the situation, despite his voice shaking, as he's filled with memories of stolen glimpses on dark nights, of nights he regrets sneaking out of bed and of cruel words that go hand in hand with a reddened cheek. He's sure Remus and James will probably ask questions, so he ends up making a filter. ]

( Filtered to Moony and Prongs )

sinsoftheblaze

[waking up covered in blood wasn't necessarily a new thing for Dextera. it happened far too often back home that it's more or less stopped bothering him.

waking up with the words 'The Blaze' and 'Sinner' on his arms? well that's a different story. an upsetting story, but a true story. that and he finally realized the blood was coming from places where he had been killed in the past.

sighing, Dextera knew he couldn't stay in his room forever and decided to head to the library for a bit. picking out a book on fairy tales and the best hiding spot he could find, Dextera sat down for some reading and ignoring the words written on his arms.

Dextera hoped that no one would find him but it was kind of hard to ignore the blood trail he had left. he'll apologize for that later.]

cyan_maid

[By all respects, Jane’s birthday in Paradisa had been lovely, especially compared to the drama, sadness, and insanity of what would come at home. She went to sleep worried, though, for it seemed that many of the residents had been struck by the castle’s ire yet again. When she wakes up today, she finds that something feels…off. Slowly, the bedcovers are peeled off, and Jane spots something on her stomach. Something large, and damp, and red – something painfully familiar.

She knows that strange marks are showing up on people, but she doesn’t even think of them. Panic can do that to a girl.]

Is anybody awake?? Oh, God...I’m scared, I’m so scared, there’s blood everywhere!!I don't - I don't think I got hurt but it's everywhere, it's like when I - [There’s a choked sound, followed by a shaky, sniffly breath.] Someone, please…help…!

[EDIT: A little later, after she's figured things out and probably made may of her friends soil their pajamas, she speaks again.]

I'm sorry about before. It seems...the castle has given me one of those stains. It's not really very pleasant to look at. I'll...probably stay in my room for a while.

((OOC: Characters are more than welcome to come bursting into her room if they are so inclined, but be warned – there is a lot of blood.))

heliotroping

[Filtered to anyone who can transform]

N--nobody feels... a transformation coming? [his voice is forced calm, but still shaky from something]

I don't feel anything, but... I have... vampire bites scars that just reopened. I'm worried all of this is a precursor. If it is... we need to take precautions.

lawfulmanicure

[Kristoph, still holed up in the music room, has finally fixed that old violin the castle had so graciously gifted to him. Having repaired it, his mood was considerably better than it was after that April Fool’s fiasco he would rather much forget. Now that he was in that all too familiar state of jumbled thoughts and annoyance, Kristoph’s determined to play again...

He patiently flips through what he was hoping was a book of sheet music on the stand he stood at, only to find every page blank. Hmph...so the castle’s playing with him again? Well, Kristoph still won’t lose his cool, not when he has a means to calm himself further and organize his thoughts. The journal, originally laid out on an empty chair, is now set on the music stand in place of the useless sheets of paper; for the sake of keeping an eye on the rest of the residents, as well as a means to broadcast his music.

Kristoph decides to simply play what he could remember first of a violin scale. Yes, test the notes first, then move onto a melody. There must be at least one song he remembers, even if he hadn’t picked up the violin in well over ten years...perhaps more. A thought occurs to him and his playing slows]

Hmm...Now, what was it that they used to play? Ah, yes.

[The notes soon form into the melody he didn’t realize he was looking for until now. Recalling all the memories he had of both practicing in the past and his brother’s popularity as a musician, Kristoph’s playing shows more confidence in the song, though something about it seemed a bit off. Kristoph had slowed the original tempo down considerably, remaking the piece into a chilling requiem. Fully concentrated on his playing, Kristoph had no idea that as he continued to play the song, marks began to show up on his skin in two forms: of blood splatter across his face and glasses, and of faintly glowing pale blue smears on his fingers.

He could think clearly now, and that was all that mattered.]

[[OOC: Combined action and dictation. Have some creepy violin music seasoning to go on your angsty Samkranti steak. :D]]

originalcopy

[Church was doing pretty good, all things considered. The earthquake had sucked, but no one he actually gave a shit about got seriously hurt. He'd actually gotten to be useful and put some of his new knowledge on how to use his armor to use. Then the castle had to go and do what it does best.

He was out walking around the castle when the corner of his eye itched. Which was weird enough in itself, but then everything went black.]

Aw Come On... what the fuck!

[He stumbles around a bit, until he walks into something hard and is knocked to his ass.]

This is fucking bullshit!

willrememberthat

I hope this goes away soon...

[There's a small, uncomfortable little whine that escaped, here. Clem's been sitting on her hands ever since she looked down at them and saw that they were red.]

It's hard to take your mind off it, when it's on your hands. Maybe... does anyone want to watch a movie? Or even share stories. I like hearing stories. I think it would help.

solowingpixy

[Pixy is lounging on the couch on the lobby, looking a little worse for wear today, while a little shiba inu puppy (that he had adopted eleven days ago from town) was laying on the floor by the couch. When he woke up and read the mess about 'stains' over the journals, he almost wondered if he was exempt for once. Of course, luck wasn't with Solo Wing this time, as they eventually got him too, and he currently looks like he just came right out of a plane crash. Dirt, scuff marks, dried blood and fresh blood are all over himself and his clothes, but he really doesn't seem to care as he talks to the open journal.]

So everyone's bent on believing these "stains" - as they keep being referred - are symbollic to our psyche in some manner? It's got to be linked to 'guilt and regret', huh? It's amazing how people look for hidden meanings behind the actions of this place and don't just chalk it up to it messing with us.

[Of course, he doesn't know the extent of some peoples' stains, but naturally he doesn't particularly care either. He reaches down to pet the puppy while staring at the ceiling, but starts to feel an awful burn on the back of his right hand. He pulls his hand back up and looks, frowning when he sees a scar, that looked like it was caused by a chemical laser, shaped like the number '0'. He scoffs.]

...well, that's awfully ironic.

( Dr. Beckett )

patching_up

[When he awakens in the morning, he doesn't feel anything out of the ordinary. It is only when he passes by the pointed shard of mirror he'd propped up against the wall beside his bed that he freezes, mortified, raising a hand to the burn that has spread across his eyepatch. He remembers exactly where that mark came from. How could he ever forget? But it wasn't supposed to be there anymore, it had been gone when he awoke in this place...]

[He moves to pick up his journal, speaking tentatively into a blank page, his voice strained. He just has to get it fixed, that's all. That's all. He'll make it go away.]

Is anyone here good at sewing? I need a favor.

[He's shaking as he sets it down again. There's a mark on his back, but he doesn't see it; he's too busy burying his head in his hands.]

forsometimenow

I can't do anything except continue to do my job and treat people. ... but if having my opinion of myself written all over my body makes anyone uncomfortable and they'd rather see someone else, I understand.

[There's a spot where her pen rests, then nothing more appears on the page. Jennifer has the mark of a large scar on the right side of her forehead, along with words/phrases like "Incompetent" "Doesn't belong" "Neglectful" "Never fitting in" visible all over her body.]

dontpatr0nizeme

( Private )

[When he finishes, realizing it's a waste of time... He goes to get his journal out, though he inadvertently leaves a reddish smear on the page on opening it. Thankfully, he wrapped his hands to keep it from getting worse. When he speaks... He sounds calm on the surface at least. He's doing his best to not let slip how much he's freaking out at everything being laid bare like this. It's like a living nightmare.] Until further notice? I'm indisposed. If you need to talk to me, it's going to have to wait until after the castle finishes this bullshit.

Well, that or contact me through the journal and I'll get back to you when I can. I'm not leaving my room any time soon. [And there aren't many in the castle likely to get through that lock.]

[softly] There are some things the world doesn't need to know about.

littlesoul

[She's bloody, of course she's bloody. Her hands, her feet, her face. She's blood soaked and burning with a displeasure that says she is not pleased at all with this.]

[She writes the entry with the bloody dripping from her fingertips, so it may come out a it smeared but the sentiment is there all the same.]

Blood isn't scary, neither is ink, ash or old lipstick. Don't be afraid, don't let it win. We all ache inside for something, all mourn the mistakes we made.

But

[her hands start shaking a little as she thinks of her own regents, her own mistakes.]

But we are meant to learn. To grow out of what they taught us. We are more than our mistakes, we are triumphs and blood and love and hate and vengeance and passion.

\We are not defined b our stains.

compromisedarrow

Clint is in the kitchen, rummaging around for some lunch, when he stops, staring at the back of his hand. A spiderweb of light blue stains, matching the pattern of his veins, is weaving across the back of his hand...

And the rest of his body, for anyone behind him.

He doesn't freak out, he knows what's going on, he just sighs exasperatedly.]

You've gotta be kidding me.

is_mafia

[Giotto had woken up and he had known something was wrong immediately when he had looked at his hands and had seen the words on his knuckles and the familiar number on the palm of his hand. He had discovered his eye and the crest on his head a few minutes later, along with the blood flecks that bled through his clothes. Giotto had tried to scrub it all off, but it had stubbornly stayed imprinted on his skin. All he could think of was the castle had done this, and checking the journal, he found out that he wasn't the only one.

Currently he was trying to get dressed, and his clothes seemed to never fix, no matter what he did to them. His shirt stubbornly stayed wrinkled, his hair a mess, and red pinpricks of blood kept seeping through his shirt. His mismatched eyes stared back at him, and his hands shook as he tried to fix his tie (the eye seemed familiar, but he couldn't seem to place it). How had it even known exactly what his regrets and shames were? He didn't advertise it, he wouldn't admit to half of these things. It unnerved him, that a castle had this much power, to send him trembling and full of guilt and shame.

He couldn't even stand to look at himself right now. Angrily and feeling helpless, he kicked the mirror hard, cracking it.]

Damn it.

[He cut across to his desk, leaving the mirror, and quickly dictated a filter.]

( Tsuna )

panicswitched

[ for those who haven't seen ashley in a few days -- which is most people, as she's been avoiding nearly everyone lately -- the fact that she's addressing the journals is likely a slight surprise. but fear not. her tantrum is only beginning. her voice is dripping with sarcasm here and those who know her well might be able to hear how her tone wavers. ]

Thanks, Castle. Really. You've outdone yourself with this one. It's beautiful, such a nice welcome back for me. Just when I think I might be okay trying to talk to someone, you have to remind me of things I'd rather not. Thanks, really. I owe you one.

If anyone needs me, I think I'll be hanging out somewhere else for the rest of the month. I'm done with these warm welcomes.

[ Filtered to Helen Magnus ]

[ she pauses for a while here, knowing she needs to do this, but unsure of how to even begin. ]

I'm not mad at you. For the record.

[ Filtered to Galadriel ]

...So about that game night. [ she owes galadriel an apology anyway. ]

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Paradisa

January 2015

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journal posts

Entries tagged with !plot: samkranti

Track 2: Blood Is Thicker Than Poison

HAPPY SONGKRAN!

61. dictated, action

035 || dictated;

Journal the Tenth - written

[09] Dictated

6th Idea Sephira: Sin

Twenty Six Spoons {Dictated}

(no subject)

Case 3

(no subject)

(no subject)

9th Sortie

Number 4. [ Dictated ]

Thirteenth Gate

(no subject)

003

11th Trick Shot ~ [Dictated/Action]

6 Famiglie~ [Accidentally Dictated]

Capture 6

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January 2015

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