stayscared (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stayscared) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2023-02-03 06:52 pm
stayscared) wrote in deercountry2023-02-03 06:52 pm
Entry tags:
Otherworld : Edition #1408
Who: Mike Enslin, his family, some hotel people, an evil fucking room & anyone!
What: Encountering various and sundry fucked up parts of Mike's entry to Lunare's Otherworld Event.
Mike's specific Otherworld Player Plot Comment is HERE, if you're wondering what might show up here.
When: All of February.
Where: Anywhere you want!
Content Warnings: Pretty much every warning, this is a lot of horror. If there's something you DNW to have in any thread, ping me on plurk![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
eisdamme or discord @ eisdamme#7495, pm me, put it in your subject line or tag and I'll avoid that thing.
Let someone else deal with this fucking room, for shit's sake! Let Mike save you from it! He can be useful! Feel free to breeze through it just meeting Katie. I am down for all the CR honestly. Handwaved or non handwaved. Short threads that eventually handwave are great! I am a fan of handwaving via discord/plurk for time reasons. Want to break all my rules and just do some random shit? HMU let's do it.
THE WORLD
The fog that rolls in is slow, and with it the sound of crashing waves. You may not see them yet - it's very possible that you don't find yourself on the beach at first, or ever. Many things are possible in Trench, and in this version of Trench, they're a little bit (more) off. Ain't that some shit?
There's less distortion here ...at first. The buildings don't seem as rusted, and though everything does indeed fall apart, this center seems to hold for a little while.
As you wander through this Trench but not Trench, trying to get your bearings - be it alone or as part of a group (hello friend hello stranger) you might begin to notice some common themes.
If it's not the waves it's the music. Even when it's silent it's not silent.
(All your friends are dead)
What?
Some buildings aren't buildings at all - they're made of paper, and they might just pop up at random, as if someone turned a page and poof. Ah, good, it's only a bookstore. Or a post office. Maybe a place you recognize from Trench. Maybe it's your place.
As long as it's not a hotel.
The streets are lined with bottles, broken and whole, and papers blow by on a wind that doesn't seem to exist in form, only in sound. Stray pages of books floating by, familiar or foreign, and some might be a little burned around the edges. What's a flaming page or two, eh? For every one that's burned another's wet, and the signage? Oh, there's something to see. It just keeps changing every time you look. At first glance it's fine, and then it gets personal. It gets horrifying. Vulgar. Or maybe that's reversed.
Oh, the odd doorknob will roll by. That's fine. Keys are interspersed with the bottles and papers, with strange and beautiful collages here and there (some of them recognizable from any Nick Bantock books he might have shown them. Others look a bit Escher-y). When they're not being monstrous. Every sign is off kilter just a hair - the shoreline looks crooked. The buildings, even familiar ones, look crooked (and then they don't) and can cause nausea. The closer you get to The Dolphin Hotel the worse that gets. But maybe you're curious.
Sometimes the waves really rumble. Mind the random floods, please and thank you.
PLACES AND PEOPLE (?) OF NOTE(S)
The discordant notes of a harp that just doesn't quite land - the notes are almost melting as they ring through bloodied strings, but as creepy as they might sound (that song playing? come on, you know it. it could be anything.) they'll lead you to safety, too. It's a harder road than following the little girl, but it's reliable if you listen closely.
Did it just change to a violin? Might've. Can you trust your ears? The faint sounds of recorders might also be there, in the undercurrent.
(If this song starts to play, though? Time to rock, time to roll, time to get the fuck out.)
If you are lucky, you might see a little girl - her age is almost always static - ten - but those who have seen her photograph before might catch a glimpse of her as she might have grown to be. Either way, one can be sure she'll lead to a safe room, of which there are a few.
She might play a game of hide and seek, or catch me if you can - destination safe room every time. To those that are stubborn, misdirected, adventurous or self destructive, she might offer a slap bracelet. They slap loudly when they're clapped onto the wrist, but they might just conceal your steps from the things that walk these roads and rooms. They might put a little 'fuck it, fuck this' in your step, too.
Perhaps you don't see her at all, but find her trail of drawings (cray pas, wax crayon) - on paper or etched into walls both inside and out - arrows and flowers and little mice (rats?) running toward a way, this way, come on, please follow, her maps are clear and plentiful, and she can't be caught by whatever stalks this place, though it will certainly try.
Phone booths litter the areas, as do phones on desks. Upon closer inspection, they will melt. Some might be able to transmit voices. You might even be able to make a call. Make it count if you can.
Would you like to phone a friend? (five this is five) Yes, bring your friends!
There is a bookstore. Sometimes it's brick and mortar, sometimes it's a paper copy of that, and popped up like a cheap jumpscare, but...
...it's mostly safe, as long as you can stand being uncomfortable. Monsters won't attack here, but panic attacks are on the menu. Or maybe on the spine of every book in the place. Most times it's nearly empty and you are, well, kind of unwelcome. But sometimes everyone in it is so happy to see you and it's very full! Either way, you are watched.
Outside, and even on the beach (even in buildings) packs of wolves roam here and there, sometimes accompanied (sometimes chasing) a tall, thin hollow of a man in a Knicks cap, cigarette tucked behind one ear (or not), or in his hand (or not) as he asks you for a light. Or a smoke. Well, what he says is not quite that, but it's what he meant to ask when he isn't growling instead. He won't attack, but the wolves may. Or they may eat him in front of you.
There's a sense of being followed, and you never get a full glimpse of the woman, but you know it's a woman. The closer she draws to you, the more your fear ebbs, the more your heartbeat returns to its resting state, the more you feel alive. And the moment that happens, the moment you feel even-keeled, about to let her catch up, to reveal herself, there's the compulsion to run.
A man patrols the borders of this strange new landscape, and travels the places in between (But never the safehouses and never the bookstore and never near the woman that follows, or the little girl. Those latter two? He'll cower in their presence and become even smaller, wheeling himself away into the shadows.) and the slow creak of his wheelchair can be heard under his mumbled cursing - just a harmless old man who's gotten himself stuck on a curb, or is turned around and confused in a dead end alley - maybe even on the sandy beach. None of that matters. He's skin and bones, and wears a frightened word as if he means to use it but cannot find his voice. Should you offer to help, you might find out what a ruse that is. His clawed hands are weapons. But the worst ones are his words. And the chair is part of him, he'll mow you down if he can - he's fast. Anything he utters will be tailored toward any inner failings a character has. He can be outrun, and he's not any stronger than a strong human without supernatural stats.
Should he meet the man in the cap with His Wolves? Well, that might just do the trick. They don't get on very well, you see.
The usual Otherworld denizens might be familiar if one has been to previous versions - or consumed any medical horror media - or memories. Plague Doctors and twisted nurses are definitely a thing, be they more old-school Hammer Horror, or carried straight over from a more Silent Hill-y place. They drag IV drips, whispering nonsense Bible verses. Ultimately, they will try to put you back into a bed. Where is the bed? That depends on you, it's a 50/50 chance it'll be terrible. It may just be a fakeout. Your mind? Not that reliable.
But reliable or no, it tells you that some places, be they shops or homes - once inside, are all darkness and heavy air, the only light the spatters of glowing fluid on the floors, the walls, on everything.
Those places? They're rife with spectres.
THE SAFE ROOMS
The saferoom is either a hospital room, where Katie climbs into a bed or it's a beach house, where she does the same.
THE BEACH
There's a beach that looks like any California beach. Maybe any New York beach, too. You might find seashells on the shore if you look, or you may find too many glass eyes, more washing up with the soft whoosh of each wave, to lie on the sand and fix upon you.
If the wolves come, if the ocean suddenly turns to chicken soup (it does that at least half the time) everyone on it acts like nothing is happening, nothing is weird, and sometimes as if you don't even exist. If something is trying to eat your face, they will just go about their business, perhaps with unrelated, benign commentary.
Sometimes there is a Lighthouse. It might remind you of one you have seen in Trench (and then unseen) and you can never reach it. That's a mercy, perhaps.
Other times, there is a woman staring out at the water. She may attempt to walk into it.
THE DOLPHIN HOTEL & ROOM 1408
If you've been blessed with a slap bracelet, then at some point on your way toward or into the room, you might run into this fellow, carrying his toolbox. He'll have some words for you. They're mostly don't go in there, but he'll accompany you to the safe room. Come on, it's just another elevator ride and straight into Olin's office. Have a drink, read a book, enjoy the view, just don't go back up there. He might have a couple slap bracelets in his toolbox.
The same woman on the beach may also attempt to walk into the Hotel. Maybe even into the Room. You know that's a bad idea. (Why is it okay for you, then? Because it is. You're special. You're unflappable. You're also full of shit.)
Would you like a boss battle? It can be Room 1408! What a fucking mess that can be!
Should you go in, it's all just fine until you're at the door. It's crooked. No it isn't. (Yes it is. But you're also crooked now, and there's nothing for that, sorry.) The room is harmless looking enough - and it can play out in any number of ways. It's a vicious, horrible room, and it's the most bland looking thing on first pass, too.
The room service menu might offer up some of the following (and more!):
💀Would you like televisions to just rudely start playing heartbreaking moments for your life? They can do that! They can be anywhere!
💀The air vents seemsus "safe". There are zombies in them! Maybe even zombie wolves.
💀Mundane paintings turn monstrous and then they're attacking!
💀You too can have an unhelpful narrator by the hotel's "room service". Would you like to check out?
💀Do you suffer from claustrophobia? WOULD YOU LIKE TO?
💀There are all kinds of ghosts! Murder and suicide victims abound. If it's an urban legend it might be here. Step right up and GET YOUR GHOSTS.
💀Would you like to see a doppelganger of yourself? It can happen. It can also talk to you through your Omni. Spoiler: it's a jerk.
💀General Manager Gerald Olin will judge your choices if you want, but politely. You're the dumbass that insisted on coming here, after all. (He can be a last resort saferoom guide (Olin's office) ...or an Evil Fucking Room(tm!) fakeout that tries to shove you into a mini fridge and re-live your worst memories.)
💀Nothing is off the table. Except escape, if this room has its way. Like the other other worlds, death is a possibilty here. It may not be the worst one.
ENJOY THE COMPLIMENTARY TURNDOWN SERVICE
"Kill it with fire."
What: Encountering various and sundry fucked up parts of Mike's entry to Lunare's Otherworld Event.
Mike's specific Otherworld Player Plot Comment is HERE, if you're wondering what might show up here.
When: All of February.
Where: Anywhere you want!
Content Warnings: Pretty much every warning, this is a lot of horror. If there's something you DNW to have in any thread, ping me on plurk
Let someone else deal with this fucking room, for shit's sake! Let Mike save you from it! He can be useful! Feel free to breeze through it just meeting Katie. I am down for all the CR honestly. Handwaved or non handwaved. Short threads that eventually handwave are great! I am a fan of handwaving via discord/plurk for time reasons. Want to break all my rules and just do some random shit? HMU let's do it.
The fog that rolls in is slow, and with it the sound of crashing waves. You may not see them yet - it's very possible that you don't find yourself on the beach at first, or ever. Many things are possible in Trench, and in this version of Trench, they're a little bit (more) off. Ain't that some shit?
There's less distortion here ...at first. The buildings don't seem as rusted, and though everything does indeed fall apart, this center seems to hold for a little while.
As you wander through this Trench but not Trench, trying to get your bearings - be it alone or as part of a group (hello friend hello stranger) you might begin to notice some common themes.
If it's not the waves it's the music. Even when it's silent it's not silent.
(All your friends are dead)
What?
Some buildings aren't buildings at all - they're made of paper, and they might just pop up at random, as if someone turned a page and poof. Ah, good, it's only a bookstore. Or a post office. Maybe a place you recognize from Trench. Maybe it's your place.
As long as it's not a hotel.
The streets are lined with bottles, broken and whole, and papers blow by on a wind that doesn't seem to exist in form, only in sound. Stray pages of books floating by, familiar or foreign, and some might be a little burned around the edges. What's a flaming page or two, eh? For every one that's burned another's wet, and the signage? Oh, there's something to see. It just keeps changing every time you look. At first glance it's fine, and then it gets personal. It gets horrifying. Vulgar. Or maybe that's reversed.
Oh, the odd doorknob will roll by. That's fine. Keys are interspersed with the bottles and papers, with strange and beautiful collages here and there (some of them recognizable from any Nick Bantock books he might have shown them. Others look a bit Escher-y). When they're not being monstrous. Every sign is off kilter just a hair - the shoreline looks crooked. The buildings, even familiar ones, look crooked (and then they don't) and can cause nausea. The closer you get to The Dolphin Hotel the worse that gets. But maybe you're curious.
Sometimes the waves really rumble. Mind the random floods, please and thank you.
The discordant notes of a harp that just doesn't quite land - the notes are almost melting as they ring through bloodied strings, but as creepy as they might sound (that song playing? come on, you know it. it could be anything.) they'll lead you to safety, too. It's a harder road than following the little girl, but it's reliable if you listen closely.
Did it just change to a violin? Might've. Can you trust your ears? The faint sounds of recorders might also be there, in the undercurrent.
(If this song starts to play, though? Time to rock, time to roll, time to get the fuck out.)
If you are lucky, you might see a little girl - her age is almost always static - ten - but those who have seen her photograph before might catch a glimpse of her as she might have grown to be. Either way, one can be sure she'll lead to a safe room, of which there are a few.
She might play a game of hide and seek, or catch me if you can - destination safe room every time. To those that are stubborn, misdirected, adventurous or self destructive, she might offer a slap bracelet. They slap loudly when they're clapped onto the wrist, but they might just conceal your steps from the things that walk these roads and rooms. They might put a little 'fuck it, fuck this' in your step, too.
Perhaps you don't see her at all, but find her trail of drawings (cray pas, wax crayon) - on paper or etched into walls both inside and out - arrows and flowers and little mice (rats?) running toward a way, this way, come on, please follow, her maps are clear and plentiful, and she can't be caught by whatever stalks this place, though it will certainly try.
Phone booths litter the areas, as do phones on desks. Upon closer inspection, they will melt. Some might be able to transmit voices. You might even be able to make a call. Make it count if you can.
Would you like to phone a friend? (five this is five) Yes, bring your friends!
There is a bookstore. Sometimes it's brick and mortar, sometimes it's a paper copy of that, and popped up like a cheap jumpscare, but...
...it's mostly safe, as long as you can stand being uncomfortable. Monsters won't attack here, but panic attacks are on the menu. Or maybe on the spine of every book in the place. Most times it's nearly empty and you are, well, kind of unwelcome. But sometimes everyone in it is so happy to see you and it's very full! Either way, you are watched.
Outside, and even on the beach (even in buildings) packs of wolves roam here and there, sometimes accompanied (sometimes chasing) a tall, thin hollow of a man in a Knicks cap, cigarette tucked behind one ear (or not), or in his hand (or not) as he asks you for a light. Or a smoke. Well, what he says is not quite that, but it's what he meant to ask when he isn't growling instead. He won't attack, but the wolves may. Or they may eat him in front of you.
There's a sense of being followed, and you never get a full glimpse of the woman, but you know it's a woman. The closer she draws to you, the more your fear ebbs, the more your heartbeat returns to its resting state, the more you feel alive. And the moment that happens, the moment you feel even-keeled, about to let her catch up, to reveal herself, there's the compulsion to run.
A man patrols the borders of this strange new landscape, and travels the places in between (But never the safehouses and never the bookstore and never near the woman that follows, or the little girl. Those latter two? He'll cower in their presence and become even smaller, wheeling himself away into the shadows.) and the slow creak of his wheelchair can be heard under his mumbled cursing - just a harmless old man who's gotten himself stuck on a curb, or is turned around and confused in a dead end alley - maybe even on the sandy beach. None of that matters. He's skin and bones, and wears a frightened word as if he means to use it but cannot find his voice. Should you offer to help, you might find out what a ruse that is. His clawed hands are weapons. But the worst ones are his words. And the chair is part of him, he'll mow you down if he can - he's fast. Anything he utters will be tailored toward any inner failings a character has. He can be outrun, and he's not any stronger than a strong human without supernatural stats.
Should he meet the man in the cap with His Wolves? Well, that might just do the trick. They don't get on very well, you see.
The usual Otherworld denizens might be familiar if one has been to previous versions - or consumed any medical horror media - or memories. Plague Doctors and twisted nurses are definitely a thing, be they more old-school Hammer Horror, or carried straight over from a more Silent Hill-y place. They drag IV drips, whispering nonsense Bible verses. Ultimately, they will try to put you back into a bed. Where is the bed? That depends on you, it's a 50/50 chance it'll be terrible. It may just be a fakeout. Your mind? Not that reliable.
But reliable or no, it tells you that some places, be they shops or homes - once inside, are all darkness and heavy air, the only light the spatters of glowing fluid on the floors, the walls, on everything.
Those places? They're rife with spectres.
The saferoom is either a hospital room, where Katie climbs into a bed or it's a beach house, where she does the same.
There's a beach that looks like any California beach. Maybe any New York beach, too. You might find seashells on the shore if you look, or you may find too many glass eyes, more washing up with the soft whoosh of each wave, to lie on the sand and fix upon you.
If the wolves come, if the ocean suddenly turns to chicken soup (it does that at least half the time) everyone on it acts like nothing is happening, nothing is weird, and sometimes as if you don't even exist. If something is trying to eat your face, they will just go about their business, perhaps with unrelated, benign commentary.
Sometimes there is a Lighthouse. It might remind you of one you have seen in Trench (and then unseen) and you can never reach it. That's a mercy, perhaps.
Other times, there is a woman staring out at the water. She may attempt to walk into it.
If you've been blessed with a slap bracelet, then at some point on your way toward or into the room, you might run into this fellow, carrying his toolbox. He'll have some words for you. They're mostly don't go in there, but he'll accompany you to the safe room. Come on, it's just another elevator ride and straight into Olin's office. Have a drink, read a book, enjoy the view, just don't go back up there. He might have a couple slap bracelets in his toolbox.
The same woman on the beach may also attempt to walk into the Hotel. Maybe even into the Room. You know that's a bad idea. (Why is it okay for you, then? Because it is. You're special. You're unflappable. You're also full of shit.)
Would you like a boss battle? It can be Room 1408! What a fucking mess that can be!
Should you go in, it's all just fine until you're at the door. It's crooked. No it isn't. (Yes it is. But you're also crooked now, and there's nothing for that, sorry.) The room is harmless looking enough - and it can play out in any number of ways. It's a vicious, horrible room, and it's the most bland looking thing on first pass, too.
The room service menu might offer up some of the following (and more!):
💀Would you like televisions to just rudely start playing heartbreaking moments for your life? They can do that! They can be anywhere!
💀The air vents seem
💀Mundane paintings turn monstrous and then they're attacking!
💀You too can have an unhelpful narrator by the hotel's "room service". Would you like to check out?
💀Do you suffer from claustrophobia? WOULD YOU LIKE TO?
💀There are all kinds of ghosts! Murder and suicide victims abound. If it's an urban legend it might be here. Step right up and GET YOUR GHOSTS.
💀Would you like to see a doppelganger of yourself? It can happen. It can also talk to you through your Omni. Spoiler: it's a jerk.
💀General Manager Gerald Olin will judge your choices if you want, but politely. You're the dumbass that insisted on coming here, after all. (He can be a last resort saferoom guide (Olin's office) ...or an Evil Fucking Room(tm!) fakeout that tries to shove you into a mini fridge and re-live your worst memories.)
💀Nothing is off the table. Except escape, if this room has its way. Like the other other worlds, death is a possibilty here. It may not be the worst one.
"Kill it with fire."