Fon Master Ion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fragileprophet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-15 10:38 am
fragileprophet) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-15 10:38 am
Entry tags:
the second - trapped in a box of tremendous size
Characters: Ion and anyone else!
Setting: Dormitory Hallways, Dormitory Bathrooms, Stairway, Floor Forty-Seven
Format: Whatever suits your fancy
Summary: After being missing for days, Ion has returned to the Tower modified and quietly obedient. He goes about his business as a Group D worker and engages in various event-related happenings.
Warnings: Lots of internal angst. Character death and potential violence, depending on the prompt and your personal preferences. Ion’s modifications draw him to people who are close to dying—although he will not attack you personally unless malfunctioning (let me know if that’s a thing you want!), he will not help you if he finds you in peril. Even if you scream or beg for help. No matter how desperately he wants to warn you of the incoming danger he senses…he will do nothing but watch as you die in front of him. Feel free to plot with me, here!
Dormitory Hallways | OPEN
[What happened?
Ion could remember being on his way to get his collar checked…then being grabbed and steered away by retrieval units…a threateningly steel door…and then…and then there was only the now. The moment his eyes had opened without really opening. Like a fog being flushed out from his brain. Or at least mostly flushed. Everything was still…hazy and unreal.
The dormitories stretch on before him and his sandals shuffle listlessly against the floor as his body continues on its course. And Ion can’t stop. He can’t make his feet do anything. He can’t make anything to do anything—his eyes won’t even blink when he wants them to. Why can’t I stop? What’s going on? Is this…Oh Lorelei, Yulia, help—I… All he feels is panic bubbling higher and higher inside of him, even while his face stays plastered in a flat melancholy. Ion tries to cry out, but finds the words stuck inside. All he can do is watch—a spectator trapped within a hijacked body.
There is a stack of new, fresh towels cradled in his arms. Ion can feel them clutched between his fingers, though he can’t so much as twitch his eyes to look down at them. Although it’s hard to calm down enough to think with any particular measure of rationality, a small part of his churning thoughts is able to understand the job his body is undertaking—changing the towels in the bathrooms. As for why he’s doing this…he can’t so much as begin to know.
All Ion can know is that he is what he promised himself he would never become.]
Dormitory Bathroom | OPEN
[No. No. What is this? What are those? This can’t be real. Just stop. Stop moving! Let me look at it. What have you done to me?
Ion’s able to get flashes of his modified ears—large, round, black speakers melded to the sides of his head—every time his vision swings past the bathroom mirrors, but can’t get a good steady look at them to really understand what they are or what their purpose is. In silence, he methodically switches old towels with new towels, and straightens various bath supplies where they appear in disarray. ]
Stairway |OPEN, let me know if you want him to malfunction here
[Ion finished his task. He had collected and disposed of the used towels, replacing them with fresh ones. Each bathroom was now restocked and fit for the use of the residents. But now what? Now what was he supposed to do? Does he have a choice? Does he have an objective? He couldn’t say. And his body trudges forward, regardless. So it isn’t as if it really matters at all.
Where am I going now? The boy wonders, already feeling a hallow sort of resignation beginning to take root. There’s a strange sense of purpose behind his movements…he can sense something that he’s never sensed before. No. He’s not sensing anything. He’s hearing it. It’s a sound he’s never heard before, filtering in louder and louder the more he walks through his new ears—and he just knows—
It’s the sound of death.
A chill rockets from his brain to his toes, but his independently moving body pays no mind to his sudden terror. Cold. So, so cold.
The sound rips through his skull in a dull but intent rhythm. This isn’t the kind of music he’s ever known or has ever loved. But it’s clear now…it’s so clear. Oh Lorelei it hurts it’s so loud I can’t stand it I can’t think make it stop someone stop it stop stop stop it—]
Floor Forty-Seven |OPEN – please specify if you want to be the future character death he’s being pulled toward, and if you aren't feel free to jump into an already existing thread if you want, as Ion won't be helping anyone in danger!
[Ion steps off onto a floor filled with sheets that flutter gently, as if hiding terrible secrets. But the knowing is even more terrible. It’s like reading the Score…and what he reads from the pounding lyric of death in his brain tells him I’m going to find someone here who will pull back the curtains and die.
But no…no, he can’t. If I know it’s going to happen, Ion tells himself as he steps further away from the stairs, I can give a warning. I can save a life.
If one were to walk in and find him here—or if one is already in here and notices him, they’d notice only that he floats silently close to the walls, staring inward. Occasionally he’ll stop. He seems to be waiting for something, though he doesn’t ever say a word to suggest what.]
Setting: Dormitory Hallways, Dormitory Bathrooms, Stairway, Floor Forty-Seven
Format: Whatever suits your fancy
Summary: After being missing for days, Ion has returned to the Tower modified and quietly obedient. He goes about his business as a Group D worker and engages in various event-related happenings.
Warnings: Lots of internal angst. Character death and potential violence, depending on the prompt and your personal preferences. Ion’s modifications draw him to people who are close to dying—although he will not attack you personally unless malfunctioning (let me know if that’s a thing you want!), he will not help you if he finds you in peril. Even if you scream or beg for help. No matter how desperately he wants to warn you of the incoming danger he senses…he will do nothing but watch as you die in front of him. Feel free to plot with me, here!
Dormitory Hallways | OPEN
[What happened?
Ion could remember being on his way to get his collar checked…then being grabbed and steered away by retrieval units…a threateningly steel door…and then…and then there was only the now. The moment his eyes had opened without really opening. Like a fog being flushed out from his brain. Or at least mostly flushed. Everything was still…hazy and unreal.
The dormitories stretch on before him and his sandals shuffle listlessly against the floor as his body continues on its course. And Ion can’t stop. He can’t make his feet do anything. He can’t make anything to do anything—his eyes won’t even blink when he wants them to. Why can’t I stop? What’s going on? Is this…Oh Lorelei, Yulia, help—I… All he feels is panic bubbling higher and higher inside of him, even while his face stays plastered in a flat melancholy. Ion tries to cry out, but finds the words stuck inside. All he can do is watch—a spectator trapped within a hijacked body.
There is a stack of new, fresh towels cradled in his arms. Ion can feel them clutched between his fingers, though he can’t so much as twitch his eyes to look down at them. Although it’s hard to calm down enough to think with any particular measure of rationality, a small part of his churning thoughts is able to understand the job his body is undertaking—changing the towels in the bathrooms. As for why he’s doing this…he can’t so much as begin to know.
All Ion can know is that he is what he promised himself he would never become.]
Dormitory Bathroom | OPEN
[No. No. What is this? What are those? This can’t be real. Just stop. Stop moving! Let me look at it. What have you done to me?
Ion’s able to get flashes of his modified ears—large, round, black speakers melded to the sides of his head—every time his vision swings past the bathroom mirrors, but can’t get a good steady look at them to really understand what they are or what their purpose is. In silence, he methodically switches old towels with new towels, and straightens various bath supplies where they appear in disarray. ]
Stairway |OPEN, let me know if you want him to malfunction here
[Ion finished his task. He had collected and disposed of the used towels, replacing them with fresh ones. Each bathroom was now restocked and fit for the use of the residents. But now what? Now what was he supposed to do? Does he have a choice? Does he have an objective? He couldn’t say. And his body trudges forward, regardless. So it isn’t as if it really matters at all.
Where am I going now? The boy wonders, already feeling a hallow sort of resignation beginning to take root. There’s a strange sense of purpose behind his movements…he can sense something that he’s never sensed before. No. He’s not sensing anything. He’s hearing it. It’s a sound he’s never heard before, filtering in louder and louder the more he walks through his new ears—and he just knows—
It’s the sound of death.
A chill rockets from his brain to his toes, but his independently moving body pays no mind to his sudden terror. Cold. So, so cold.
The sound rips through his skull in a dull but intent rhythm. This isn’t the kind of music he’s ever known or has ever loved. But it’s clear now…it’s so clear. Oh Lorelei it hurts it’s so loud I can’t stand it I can’t think make it stop someone stop it stop stop stop it—]
Floor Forty-Seven |OPEN – please specify if you want to be the future character death he’s being pulled toward, and if you aren't feel free to jump into an already existing thread if you want, as Ion won't be helping anyone in danger!
[Ion steps off onto a floor filled with sheets that flutter gently, as if hiding terrible secrets. But the knowing is even more terrible. It’s like reading the Score…and what he reads from the pounding lyric of death in his brain tells him I’m going to find someone here who will pull back the curtains and die.
But no…no, he can’t. If I know it’s going to happen, Ion tells himself as he steps further away from the stairs, I can give a warning. I can save a life.
If one were to walk in and find him here—or if one is already in here and notices him, they’d notice only that he floats silently close to the walls, staring inward. Occasionally he’ll stop. He seems to be waiting for something, though he doesn’t ever say a word to suggest what.]
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I'm trying, I really am,he thinks as loudly as he can, before turning on himself once again. Stop moving. Please, please, please stop walking!
Still, he continues his slow shuffle.]
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