Test Drive 001

[atonementmods]

Test Drive #001 Welcome to Atonement's first test drive, and thank you very much for stopping by! Please refer to the prompts below for ideas, or simply make up your own, whichever is easiest for you. Prompts Arrival: You don't quite remember how you arrived here. It appears that you're suddenly in a dead land with eerily red skies. The grass is dead, the trees are dying, and there's absolutely no sounds of life beyond your own footsteps, even if it feels like you're being watched somehow. Eventually along the narrow path you follow, you walk through gates that seem to guard a quiet, abandoned town and a sinking feeling starts to settle in that you are far from home and there may not be an easy way back. The sign hanging above the gates simply says "Welcome to Penance: Home Between Homes" and nothing more. Within the gates, there are the leftovers of what may have once been a lively, welcoming little town, if it didn't look as if people either fled or somehow vanished in the blink of an eye. There are dusty shops that are still stocked with supplies, many with their doors busted out or left open. There are homes that haven't been touched in what feels like an eternity but they still have furniture and the remnants of the people who lived there previously. Cars and bikes are littering the streets that are in varying shapes of usability. The more you look, the more unsettling everything becomes... First Punishment: As a show of good will, your hosts will give you a very easy, albeit potentially embarrassing, task to carry out for your punishment this month. First: There will as few secrets in Penance as possible. Transparency is key to atonement. You will reveal at least one sin in a way that will be permanent, which means via tattoo, scarring, branding, or other permanent means somewhere on your person. For those who are unable to be injured or scarred, there will be enchanted items that will be able to pierce even the toughest skin, cut deeper than even increased healing can recover from. All necessary items will be available at the tattoo parlor in town. If desired, characters may also make an announcement on the network listing their sin(s) for judgement from their peers. Please note that if the character insists they are free of sin, they will be provided a list of what they're guilty of by their hosts. Settling: It's time to settle into a home in Penance, either alone or with roommates. There is comfort and safety in numbers after all... Do try not to fight over housing if you've both accidentally chosen the same home... Your hosts will be very unhappy if you start a fight this early on over such a silly thing. If settling down isn't something you feel like doing, you may go and explore anywhere that you'd like, including outside the gates. Please be aware that there may be demonic forms of all types of common animals living outside them that move swiftly and silently. They will vary in aggressiveness and tamability, so please keep this in mind. As a note, all threads may be considered game canon if all parties agree. Hope you have fun and thank you! Game is set to officially open February 1st or when we reach a minimum of 10 players. premise | faq | taken | reserves | apps | hiatus/drop | network | logs | ooc | mods | requests

Comments

OOC questions, comments, etc.

[atonementmods]

Please leave all questions and comments here!

[rosebyanyother]

Hi! I'm curious about a particular situation: if a character decides to continually repeat a relatively minor sin (in this case, lying about their name with every intention otherwise of atoning for the things they've done), would there be consequences other than time added to how long they have to stay?

Goodnight Robicheaux | Magnificent Seven

[intheashes]

1 - for I have sinned (tw - cutting)
Goody might have laughed if he could. He can't. The sound of it dies in his throat before it can bubble to the surface. There is a tired almost manic shaking of his shoulders that might be a laugh, might be something else. He looks at the knife before him. He's seen ones like this before many times. All he has to do is take it. Take it and write his sins upon himself.

He has so many and it's so crushing. He's certain than if he starts, he might not be able to stop.

If he can start at all. His hands shake when he reaches for the dagger. In his mind, he can hear a familiar confident voice. Knives are easy. Perhaps they are. But to him, it's not so simple. He knows he should. But he deserves it. He deserves to suffer. He deserves to go to hell. For all he's done.

He chews his lower lip a little and takes a shaking breath and takes the knife finally. He mutters to himself. "But isn't it also a sin? To harm yourself?" And shouldn't that also add to his list of things he's done?

2 - there is a house in New Orleans
[ The house isn't half as nice as the Robicheaux manner. Nothing really is, but it's a huge step up from the inns and barns and out in the wild, sleeping by a camp fire. A huge step up really. But more than that, there are things in this place that Goodnight has never seen before in his life.

flip.... The lights turn on.

flipflipflipflip off on off on. He can't help but be utterly amazed by the miracle of electric lights. He really can't believe it. So he sticks his head outside to call out to a passer by ]

Hey, have y'all seen this?

3 - Cowboy in a modern era - networt sort of
[There's a man in a grey coat and hat going around with his phone, looking very confused. He's going to come to the next person he sees who might be using theirs.]

Excuse me. You look like you know how to use this confounded contraption. Could you do me a favor and show me how to use it?

2!

[nothingtoknives]

[ The trick to dying, it appeared, was not remembering the exact moments of death.Only glimpses of his fate that leaves him wandering, lost, through the empty streets of this strange and dying town. A smile. A laugh. A flask by his hand. The sound of a bell ringing. All as blurred as the red sky overhead, a permanent ethereal twilight.

And a voice that he remembers.

Goody, leaning out of a strange looking house (they all are strange, really) shouting something about seeing something. Smile as bright as the sun and voice just as warm. And he’s foolish Icarus, dashing across the empty road to reach him, flying towards his sun. ]

Goody-

[ He remembers himself soon enough. Slows his pace to a casual walk. As much as he wants to kiss this man, to check him for injury, to hold him close and try to make sense of it all, he cannot. Who knows who might be watching. ]

You forgot this.

[ He holds out the flask, hidden in his pocket. The last vestiges of Home. ]

3!

[noassgardian]

Um--

[Billy gives an incredulous look at the guy who approaches him, who looks like he just took a step out of some Old West movie. He might have laughed, if the guy didn't seem so genuinely confused. He tucks his own phone back in his pocket and gives a nod.]

Sure? What's giving you trouble?

[Billy sort of lives on his phone, so hey, he could have made a worse choice on who to approach.]

1

[thereneverwas]

"Is it?"

A man has joined him at the tool cabinet, standing slightly behind and scrutinizing all the terrible sharp implements with a quirked brow.
"This all seems a bit much," he remarks with a halting smile, "I don't know who made the rules here, but I don't suppose they'd mind if I wrote 'idiot' on my forehead in charcoal and called it a day."

1

[quinientos]

"If that's the worst of the sins that you're thinking about, then maybe write that on your skin," is Vasquez's unimpressed reply to Goodnight's wavering. Of course, maybe he shouldn't be such an asshole to someone who's a ghost to him back wherever he'd been, but maybe Vasquez is as good as dead too, hung or shot or found by someone who's ready to claim the reward for him.

Still, this wavering about back and forth quickly moves Vasquez from being pleased to see the man again and pushes him right into annoyance. It seems like that's one of the costs to being here, so they'd best pay. Gesturing for the knife, he gives him a nod of encouragement.

"Go on, give it, I'll write whatever you want on you. Make it small and little," he guarantees. "El pecado más pequeño," he embellishes with a smirk.

Billy Kaplan | Marvel 616

[noassgardian]

01; arrival
[It's like walking around in a daze. Penance is creepy, like a vision from a nightmare, but it isn't anything too unusual. He's been to Hell before, briefly. It maybe didn't appear to be quite that horrible here in Penance, but the greeters made it very clear that it wasn't going to be a cake walk either.

'Welcome to Penance, you're a horrible person!' felt like the basic greeting, along with voluntary torture. It didn't feel like he'd been given a choice at all... Teddy, his parents, his brothers-- if he wanted to get back to them, he had to go along with it for now. Going to a potential Hell that he couldn't escape from just wasn't an option.

It still kind of sucks though. He doesn't remember his death. He doesn't remember how he got here. It left a sick feeling in his stomach.

Still, when in doubt, it felt easier to keep his guard up. Hide how muchit was affecting him.]

So... you think they got anything to actually do here or is it twenty-four-seven torture?

02; punishment
[This is a nightmare he can't wake up from. It has to be, even if Billy didn't think even his subconscious could ever make up something as horrifying as this place was. He's not saying that he doesn't deserve this. He's done a lot of bad. He was made from bad, in a way... his mother used part of a demon's soul itself to create him.

Well, sort of at least. It's more complicated than Billy can wrap his head around as he scans the objects before him. Knives. He's not sure he can go that route, but he's pretty sure tattooing it wouldn't work. He wouldn't know how to give himself one anyway.

Burning something into his skin makes his stomach turn... which in return makes him feel guilty for not being brave enough to do it, but it is how it is.

He doesn't even know what sin to start with, honestly, but he finally reaches for one of the blades-- a black and red knife.

He gets as far as rolling up his sleeve, but Billy can't quite bring himself to just do it yet. Usually rash things are so easy for him to do, but this just feels like so much... too much.]

03; network

Uh, hello? I guess this is on now.

[Billy pops on the video. He's sat in some half-empty house he found to stay in, back to the wall as he sits on the floor. He gives a wry smile.]

My name is Billy Kaplan. If that name means anything to anyone... get in touch with me?

[He pauses, idly biting at his cheek.]

So, stupid question, but how is everyone settling in in this hellhole so far? I found a two-storey that was empty... it feels kind of like a waste of space just for me though.

3

[goodbadcompany]

[He's never good at actually reaching out to people, but hey, it's going to be pretty boring without fans or any of the other assholes he already knows around. Besides, he can't actually resist making a comment, even if it's nothing to really do with the topic.]

Nice fringe. Pretty sure I do it better, though.

[He grins, showing off his canines. His shades can do the job of covering how strained his expression actually is around his eyes.]

I've lived in worse places. This is pretty middle-class after the last hellhole I spent time in.

03

[paper_airplanes]

[It takes a few tries before Ray can work out how to send a response, but she can't simply ignore someone who looks about as tired as she feels. She forces a small smile as she speaks, hoping it will help ease their mutual nerves.]

Settling in has gone alright, so far. It's very empty here, [she notes, glancing behind her at the expansiveness of the empty house she'd found,] but everything is relatively clean and well-built, at least. So it isn't all bad.

Dionysus | The Wicked + The Divine

[yoloo]

1 - the arrival

[Dionysus can remember, vaguely, what happened before his arrival... enough to believe it when he's told he died. Being on the list for Hell though, much less pleasant. So was the list of sins he's guilty of and the amount of time he's going to be paying them off before he gets back. He has to get back though... People needed him. A lot.

He lets out a breath, hands sliding into his pockets as he browses the empty shops curiously.

For the brief sleep he got back home, he still feels wrecked. He doesn't want to sleep here any more than he slept back home though... maybe even less if he's being honest.]

Hey-- [He starts when he sees someone coming out of one of the empty shops.] Did you see anything with caffeine in there?

2 - the branding

[Dionysus has been staring at the arrangement of tools for too long. He's half-phasing out, half considering which would be the easiest to do and where. Somewhere along the way, he's sat himself on the floor, legs folded and hands casually resting against them, brows furrowed in an uncharacteristically grim look.

He has to do this. He has to.]

Fuck it, I have no idea what I'm doing...

3 - settling in

[Most people are trying to find homes to stay in, Dionysus is trying to find a decent place for a party. People need a distraction, and if there's one thing that Dionysus can provide? It's that. He wants to help people as much as he can for however long he's here.

He peers in windows of buildings that look like they might work, ventures in one or two.

He might look a bit suspicious, but he's not actively trying to be.]

2

[goodbadcompany]

[He's quiet approaching the room he can hear someone in, sneaking as best he can just in case it's someone he doesn't actually want to talk to, and ends up watching the scene from the door for a moment. He needs to double-check he's not seeing what he wants to see. Honestly, he'd never figured Dionysus for the hell-bound type- not like himself, anyway, so he wouldn't be surprised if he's just hallucinating the familiar tattoo.

But eventually he interrupts, aiming for loud, not sure he really achieves it.]

...Do any of us?

Baphomet | Wicked + Divine

[goodbadcompany]

Arrival

[The town feels strange, nothing like anywhere he's ever lived, everything just a little too far apart and open for his liking. He probably shouldn't be surprised Hell looks like some kind of American TV set, though, and he might even be thankful that it's not just more of the same, even if not having an Underground is going to be weird and maybe even a little uncomfortable. The greeting committee is worse, making it very clear this isn't home any more, and he definitely isn't the god of this afterlife, if he was ever at all.

He needs somewhere dark to hide out for a bit and recuperate, is what it boils down to, and he's desperate enough to stop the next person he sees, eyes hidden under his shades, wearing a leather jacket and no shirt and really not stopping to think too hard about how that might look.]

Hey, you know if any of these houses have a basement?

Punishment

[He'll have had worse, he's almost done worse, and he's not really about to make whoever runs this place too angry. So if they say punishment is a part of what he's doing here- then punishment it is, and at least he gets to choose what he commits to skin. Might as well make it a short word, right? And he might as well pretend he gets some kind of choice about doing it at all, for that matter.

He holds the blade of the knife between his fingers first, heating it up with a small miracle, because he's fairly sure cauterising will be a painful bitch but much easier to keep clean. And then he sets the knife to the back of his left arm, wincing at the smell of cooked meat, but managing the two cuts it takes to do a very angular C.]

Shit-

[He has a few more words in that line, too, waiting for the pain to pass, but it's going to take a while to get through them...]

arrival

[mysteriumtremendum]

"I hadn't thought to look."

The man Baphomet has stopped is not particularly remarkable looking; close to middle-age, dressed in business casual that looks as though he recently confiscated it from one of the derelict houses around them. He looks back at this strangely dressed young man with very pale eyes, then turns instead to consider the buildings around them.

Atticus glimpses what looks as though it might be a basement window near the foundation of one especially forbidding-looking place. "There, perhaps."

He turns to look back at Baphomet, considering him for a silent moment. Then, as though coming to some decision, he suggests, "Shall we have a look?"

Rufus Basco | OC

[thereneverwas]

Arrival

He awakens gasping on the floor, both sweating hands pawing at his tortured throat, which is abruptly free of obstruction. His assailant is gone, he survived. ...did he?

Rufus sits up on his elbows, his heartbeat struggling to return to normal as he takes in the space around him. It's a room unlike anything he's seen before, mainly in its simplicity. There's some sort of bulge in the ceiling above him, resembling a chandelier, or an oculus, but with no candles or skylight. Rufus finds himself fixated on this as he lies there, his mind racing as he tries to piece together what's happening.

Out and About

There's more off about the village than its red sky and quiet; the houses are shaped in a way unfamiliar to Rufus, uncanny in their similarities to the buildings he knows, yet with materials and designs that seem to come from somewhere else altogether.
He's wandering down the center of the street, wearing his guards' uniform and looking more or less like someone who might be found at a modern Renaissance faire, albeit much more confused.

Punishment

Though he's starting to understand, Rufus still needs a great deal of explanation. He's bewildered by his newfound ability to speak an entirely different language, and to understand when he hears it, but he still isn't quite certain he heard correctly.
A tattoo? Or a scar? Of... something he did wrong? But why?

Atticus Vedici | OC

[mysteriumtremendum]

out and about

Like a bad penny, Atticus was bound to turn up sooner or later.

He steps out of one of the many dilapidated houses lining the central thoroughfare, shrugging his shoulders into a smart-looking blazer that was, more than likely, confiscated from a wardrobe inside. (It was this or an executioner's hood.)

Considering his surroundings inscrutably, he spots Rufus approaching from a different direction, and goes still.

Vasquez | Magnificent Seven

[quinientos]

i. new to town

[ Penance, the town is called.

As far as Vasquez believes, this looks like a joke -- some lingering dream born from a conversation he's had in a church with Faraday about sins and forgiveness and atonement. He hadn't felt guilt of them, then, but then, he's learned how to live his life without remorse. Easiest way to get on with your life is to accept the shitty part of it, where something you did has made it miserable.

Standing near the sign that calls this home, he lights up a cigarette and considers the sky, the trees, the surroundings. If he didn't know better, he'd say that he's in hell, and as Vasquez crosses himself before wandering into town, he knows that the balance of his sins probably took him here, but penance means a chance for forgiveness.

Reaching for his matches, Vasquez frowns and tries to remember where they are before he recalls that they'd fallen out of his saddlebag in his ride from town. Then again, if he's dead, do the dead even have a way to smoke? Trying to find the nearest person, he whistles to get their attention, shifting the cigarette to his fingers. ]

You have a light? Or some way to get me to be allowed to smoke?

ii. bounty on my skin

[ Somehow, he thinks that he's not exactly doing this right.

He's meant to ink his sin on his skin, but as soon as Vasquez has put ink to the line of his collarbone, where it can be seen where anyone might see if the bandanna doesn't cover it. He has, too, not because he likes to follow instructions, but because he's proud of this singular act and without remorse and regret, unlike the rest. It reads there with a steady hand, having visited someone to have it professional done.

MY HEAD IS WORTH $500 FOR MURDER.

The only downside, of course, that makes him panic wildly is that as soon as it's there, he wonders if the whole point of this place is to finally put him somewhere that he can be arrested, shot, hung. It's why he's fiddling with his bandanna when he leaves the tattoo parlor, more regret in this than for the actual murder itself. He stops to do the work outside of the parlor, in the middle of tying it back when someone bumps into him.

Probably not clever for him to be standing in the middle of the sidewalk doing this, but it's not like he's going to act like it's his fault. Hissing when the bump causes a mild sting in the tattoo that wraps around his shoulder, he glowers at the person. ]

Careful where you walk.

2

[nothingtoknives]

[ He doesn't recognize the man, not at first. Doesn't expect him here. Horne, Faraday, Goody- those, he knew, had died with him. Vasquez, however...

He doesn't respond at first, merely squares his shoulders and fixes him with a look. If you didn't want to be bumped into, maybe you shouldn't be taking up the whole of the sidewalk, idiot.]

Vasquez.

Negan | The Walking Dead

[vampirebats]

one; settling in

Motherfucker, fuckin--

[Dead. They told him he was dead as a fucking doornail even if he didn't remember it. They can fucking suck his dick before he'll believe that... they think he hasn't seen worse than red skies and a goddamn empty town?

He grips his barbwire bound bat tightly in hand, so tense he's almost shaking before he gives it another swing into some unsuspecting table, gouging into the wood, sending splinters flying. He's in some goddamn empty house that smells like dust and old age, and maybe this isn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but--

What the fuck. Getting out your aggression can sure as shit feel like the healthiest thing to do. Another swing of the bat, Lucille, and he takes out a lamp. It only takes a few more swings before he feels spent, standing in the middle of this fucking house, panting and more lost than he can remember feeling in a while.

Lucille, give him the fucking strength to keep going on.

He looks over towards the door, not entirely aware that his noise drew in attention. Well, fuck--

He manages his best shit-eating grin, draws in a calmer breath.]

Well, well... Can I fuckin' help you or what?

[He shrugs his shoulders.]

And don't mind me, now. Just taking out a little frustration, that's all.

02. mark;

[He's been in this godforsaken tattoo parlor for how long now? He can't even remember. He's been debating between the ink or the branding... playing with fire seems appropriate, but he ain't big on wearing his sins on his sleeve. What he's done, while he might have been an asshole about it, he's done it with reason.

Well, most things.

Shit he did to his wife, his actual wife... nothing could excuse that, but like hell is he wearing fucked up, cheating liar on his skin. He lets out a breath, shrugging out of his leather jacket.

It isn't the pain he's afraid of, no. He's got the balls to deal with a hell of a lot of pain. But he's not thrilled with having to advertise what his own personal goddamn business to this place.]

Never thought I'd be getting a tattoo, not anytime soon, but... hell, might as well get it over with, right?

One!

[nothingtoknives]

[ The noise had drawn him from the streets, the violent outburst sounding more akin to what he's used to than the deathly quiet of the streets. He misses the noise. The life. Even if it was a world he was barely welcome in, it's still his and he's carved out a niche in it.

Now, he supposes he'll have to do the same here.

Calm and collected, Billy keeps one hand on a knife, seeing as the man is already armed with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, reeking of anger and surrounded with destruction. ]

No, I don't think you can.

[ This isn't what he's looking for, and he's in no mood to fight. Of course, if it comes to it, he'll defend himself without question. ]

Billy Rocks || Magnificent Seven

[nothingtoknives]

1 - Blood On My Name

There's something to be said about forgetting how many people you've killed. Certainly, there are three memorable ones- three that got the attention of the law, enough to issue a warrant and wanted poster. But there were others, too, in the time between. He'd exchanged blood for coin, honed his skills until they were as sharp as his blades. How many had there been? Fifty? One hundred?

He doesn't even remember their faces anymore, even as he stares down the red hot iron ready to brand an "M" into his wrist. M for murderer. If he'd been branded for every life he took, well- can someone die again?

"Give me a minute." He slips the cigarette between his lips, one of the few that he has left from home. Precious quantities of tobacco mixed with opium, something not easily gotten here. But it'll dull the pain. It'll keep him from screaming.

"... Should strap my arm to the table." Or recruit someone else to hold him down. This isn't going to be easy.


2 - Drink the Water

[ Never in his life had he seen so much food in one place.

Not even the most well-stocked general stores out west had this much... variety. Seven different types of apples, fresh oranges, bread in various tastes and shapes and colors. This 'grocery' was... overwhelming.

And lacking. ]

Excuse me.

[ He asks someone who seems to know a little more than he does. ]

Where can I find a hand axe?

2.

[paper_airplanes]

[Ray doesn't know a lot about the town, since she hasn't been here all that long, and she certainly doesn't know why someone would want a hand axe. As far as she was concerned, the only people who needed those were farmers, weren't they? But she does actually know the answer, so she musters up a weak smile as she replies.] Those are in the hardware store, with all the nuts and bolts and nails. I found it when I was looking around earlier. It's not far from here, if you'd like me to show you?

[She wasn't about to attempt to give directions. It had taken her most of her life to memorize the street names back home. Here, she didn't even know which one they were on, let alone which one the hardware store was on.]

Fang Ray Shin | Detention 返校

[paper_airplanes]

Arrival

[This wasn’t the first time Ray had found herself somewhere strange all of a sudden. She kept walking, as if she knew where she was going, taking in everything through tired eyes. If she were still in Taiwan, she would have assumed the whole of the town had simply been arrested. She’d heard of that happening, after all, even if no one was supposed to speak about it. But everything was very European or perhaps American in design, without any Chinese to be found on the signs all around her. Though she curiously peered into a few of the empty houses, she was reluctant to go inside any in case someone should happen to be living there.

So she wanders through town, lost and alone, still in her school clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb. Her face is sad and listless until she finally spots someone, and then her eyes light up as she walks over to ask,] Excuse me, but – where are we?


First Punishment

[For Ray, the problem wasn’t that she couldn’t admit she had done terrible things. Frankly, she agreed she deserved some kind of punishment in the wake of everything that had happened. That she had been responsible for so much of what went wrong and been rewarded during her life had already driven her mad at least once in life. Now, in death, it was threatening to do so a second time as she stood, trembling, before a table of knives in the tattoo parlor. She was completely expressionless, fists clenched so hard her nails drew blood from her palms, as the weight of everything hit her.

Forcing her fists to unclench enough to reach for a knife, she froze, one hand outstretched, before something in her broke and she sank to the floor unceremoniously, burying her face in her hands to try to stifle the sobs that tore through her.]

Not enough, [she choked out, as an explanation to anyone who might be nearby,] After what I did, it’s not enough…


Settling In

[Of course she didn’t want to be alone. She grew up knowing that if you lived alone, no one might even notice if you were arrested, or the police could kill you and make it look like an accident or a suicide. There was no telling what they would do here, with whatever strange force they had used to draw people in, so she had to find someone to share a home with.

Unfortunately, she was a bit shy by nature, and asking to live with someone – that was a bit of an imposition for them, wasn’t it? She tried to comb her hair with her fingers and smooth down her skirt beforehand so she wouldn’t look as tired as she felt, but upon knocking on someone’s door, she found her words failing her.]

Ah, hello. My name is Fang Ray Shin; I was wondering if you still had room here? I don’t like being alone, you see, not at night, at least. I was hoping that perhaps I could stay here?

[Out of nervousness, she glanced away, pale cheeks coloring somewhat as her right hand came up to touch the white jade deer pendant she always wore around her neck, hoping its’ familiarity would give her courage and comfort.]

Settling in

[intheashes]

[ This house is nothing like he is used to. Goodnight's seen both the best in the world and the worst. He once lived in a huge Louisiana Plantation. It was much smaller than that. He's also lived out of inn rooms above saloons. It's much larger than that. It's this strange in-between that Goody is still getting used to.

He has other things to get used to as well. Electric lights. Running water. Indoor plumbing. It's all quite a lot for a man to handle. But at least he's not alone and while he waits for his partner to return, Goody has been busying himself with airing out the house. Taking stock of what they have here. What's useful. What's not. He's amazed in a way, by how much stuff there is. By how much he had gotten used to living with just what they needed to drift from town to town.

He's in the middle of taking stock of the cupboards when he hears the knock. That surprises him and when he comes to open the door, he looks down at a young lady. A young lady that reminds him a lot of Billy. Not quite the same. He knows the difference, but enough that she has him smiling just slightly.

A part of him tells him not to trust this. She could be a demon. A spirit of this place, to punish him. But he doesn't hear the Owl. The wings are silent. The voices that shout in his head, in his dreams, they are quiet too. All there is at this door is a girl with a foreign name and a request he simply doesn't have the heart to turn away. Perhaps it's because he too doesn't do well alone at night. He knows better than anyone the horrors that nightmares bring.]

Ah, ma petite, please come in. There are many rooms here. [ He would just have to explain to Billy why there is a young lady suddenly in the house when he returned.] And I apologize for the mess. It's been a time of it, learning about all of this. [ He makes a gesture to the entire house and then steps back to let her in. ]

Grantaire | Les Miserables

[absinthes]

Arrival

This is not how he expected the afterlife to look.

Granted, he anticipated the afterlife not to be nonexistence. Had hoped for it, really, because life in any sense was a terrible nightmare of a thing. But if there had been an afterlife, he’d have expected the one he ended up in to look more fire and brimstone, rather than the dead world he saw about him when he opened his eyes.

He was fairly certain, at least, that this wasn’t Heaven. At least whatever this world was, it had gotten that much right.

Now he just needed to figure out where he was.

He spots a pathway, not far from where he’s ended up. Almost unbidden, he starts walking towards it, heading to whatever awaits at the other end of the path.

It’s a certainty he’ll be asking whoever he stumbles upon about where they are.

—

First Punishment
Well, I personally feel like anyone who knows me for more than two seconds would be able to tell everything terrible I ever did in my life, but I suppose if we wanted to make it a properly immediate thing, I am hardly one to object.

[He shows the back of a hand, and it’s covered in fresh ink: “liar” is first on the list of sins, followed by “lustful, glutton, slothful” and “envious.”]

I am certain there’s more to add on there, but I went with the most obvious and then the most applicable from the seven deadly, for now. After all, I am more than capable of making the additions later, with all this intriguing— “technology” available in this world.

[A thin, exhausted flicker of a smile. The bags under his eyes are dark and bruise-like.]

Now, does anyone know where a man may be able to get a bottle of alcohol here?

arrival.

[logomachist]

He's waiting. He doesn't know he's waiting, but he is.

Enjolras is terrible at waiting.

It's just that there isn't a clear next step, now that he's standing at this unfamiliar gate. It's just that there isn't a 'to do' he can conjure up, now that his chest is filled with a deep hollow aching and his hands are oddly empty. His fingers flex and relax. His breath comes shaken and shallow. His feet can't quite move. There's no one else beside him. There's no one else before him. There's no sign that there's anyone at all to fight for.

The only task at hand is, apparently, self-preservation--and that's never been his forte.

So the sound of feet crunching up the path behind him is a relief. Another person, after all, will be an organizing principle. Another life, whatever this version of life is, will let him push himself into action.

There's hope in Enjolras's face when he turns to peer back down the path. It dampens as the figure begins to take visible shape.

Enjolras ] Les Misérables

[logomachist]

one; punishment -- judges, not assassins

The list is painfully exhaustive. Despite that, it leaves the reader with the terrible, hollow sensation that there must be more.

The act itself had been quick enough. The words, after all, were familiar as anything else in Enjolras's life. The hurt of a needle piercing into his skin was nothing. The odd prickle of blood had been easy to wipe away, entirely heedless. Once something had been decided, there could be no hesitation, only action.

The difficulty had come in simply staring at the list he had been given.

Parts were easy enough to read. Parts were debatable, interpretable, the basis of genuine arguments about ends and means and the morality of justified revolution. The notable states of being were hardly so terrible; the criminal acts were forgivable. It was the names that arrested his attention as Enjolras stood alone in the silent tattoo parlor for what must have been an hour.

When he leaves, his right arm is a mess of red scrawling. 'Wrath' and 'Pride' are clearly visible on the back of his hand, inescapable and highly visible. Obvious though they are, as he walks his attention is clearly far more distracted by what's written on the inside of his arm. The list of names there extends from his wrist toward his elbow, vanishing up under his folded sleeve.

The name at the top--Gavroche--is underlined indelibly.

two; settling in -- economize your ammunition

The oddity of being tugged from the line of fire into this winter-dead town has begun to fade. The frustration of his piece of the fight being done has begun to sit lower in his chest, less of a sharp hurt and more of a dull truth. That isn't what's keeping Enjolras so full of clearly unhappy energy.

It's the lack of knowing what to do.

'Penance' isn't a concept he can manage if there aren't other people--and most of this town seems to be a lack of other people. What's the point of boarding up a window if it won't keep someone inside safer? What's the good of gathering provisions from here or there if there's no one to distribute them to? Why puzzle over the hulking metal vehicles in the streets when no one else would be improved by understanding them?

The stillness of being alone in oppressive. The silence is almost violence. The lack of utility practically has Enjolras shaking when he finally comes across another human form to hurry himself after.

"--let me help." It doesn't matter what with. It doesn't matter who they are. It just matters that there's something to do.

three; network -- who is going to raise the flag?

[The image is out of focus, although that doesn't mean much to Enjolras. The much greater struggle with the little brick he's been told to speak to is that it isn't remotely like an audience. There are no faces to watch. There's no soft, ambient murmur of human life to fill him with the energy to launch into sounding like himself.

It takes a moment of simply frowning before he ventures to speak, as moderated as he'd been assured was necessary for such a delicate thing. The first attempt is cut off by the dryness of his throat, lips opening and shutting without producing any sound. A glance down at the arm holding the device is, apparently, settling.]

Combeferre. [A pause.] Courfeyrac.

[He's here. Why wouldn't they be?]

punishment, duh. also /dips lightly into broadway musical canon for this

[absinthes]

It's not that he disagrees, necessarily, when he sees the two sins listed on Enjolras' list-- Not with wrath, at least. Pride is something of a debatable thing, though he can see where it might come in. At the end of the day, those two words aren't the surprise.

The surprise is more for the names. The brief stillness in his entire body comes from spotting Gavroche's and feeling like he's been hit with bullets all over again.

His hand rests briefly against his chest as he tries to remember how to breathe again. It's the one with his own sins easily visible.

He's a touch pale when he finally manages to do something like meet the other man's eyes.

"Why...?"

It's hard to find words, for a moment. His gaze drops back to Gavroche's name before he tries again.

"--Why do you have-- their names?"

Dr. Whale | Once Upon a Time

[ex_galvanist88]

punishment
[ Whale has come to the horrible revelation that once again, he might be the only doctor in the entire town. Which normally, he could work with that. But normal towns don't encourage people to mutilate themselves. So, Whale's taken it upon himself to set up camp in the tattoo parlor, if only to make certain that nobody actually kills themselves while trying to punish themselves.

He's wearing just his shirt-sleeves, shoes, and trousers. Though, one of his shirtsleeves is rolled up to reveal a sloppily bandaged forearm. A tattoo, about a few inches long, is visible through the bandages. It says one word: graverobbing.

Anyone who enters gets a little nod from Whale as he looks over to the wide assortment of tools. Pick your poison.

network
[ There's a bit of an awkward pause before Whale starts talking. ]

Look, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but Penance seems to be a bit of a sausage fest. Is there anybody upstairs that we can petition for a little...uh, gender diversity?

[ being dead and trapped in a purgatorial hellhole does not negate the fact that Whale is a: a sleaze and b: kind of horny. Somebody apparently didn't get the memo that 'lust' is also a sin. ]

Punishment

[nothingtoknives]

[ The pain in his arm has his fingers half curled, the bright red mark of a brand burned into his wrist. It stings, and he needs something to take off the edge of the pain. Good thing for him that a doctor seems to have set himself up in the tattoo parlor.

Normally, he knows he would wait. Let Goody negotiate the details with a doctor. But he can't wait. The blood and pain making this an urgency that he can't ignore. ]

How much for laudnum?

[ Just a taste. Just enough to take away the pain. ]

Phasma - Star Wars (New Trilogy) -- Pardon the lack of TLJ icons NOT THAT THERE IS MUCH......

[courageandtenacity]

ARRIVAL

The armor is damaged, the helmet cracked and missing a segment over the eye. But she wears it as though it's spotless, fearlessly walking through the streets as she searches for supplies or signs of life. The former is easy to find, as...desolate as it is. As though everyone evacuated suddenly, without much time to pack.

Phasma sets this thought aside as she spots a moving figure, adjusting her stride and calling out, "You there, halt!"

--

PUNISHMENT

[Phasma would argue she is free from sin. She would also argue that it does not matter, and that all of this is nerfshit- but she's hardly a choice in this, does she?

MURDERER finds its way tattooed on the back of her left hand. It's crude, the work of someone without experience in the art. But the lines are surprisingly steady, without any sign of hesitation or flinching.

She also lingers in the parlor for some time, afterwards, glove and helm replaced. Are you perhaps not able to mark yourself? You might be able to convince her to take her hand to you.]

--

SETTLING

[Is it really any surprise that Phasma seeks out a place not so much for shelter or comfort, but for its ease of defense? Even then it's hardly much - mostly a place for her to take stock of what she has, and what few things she's found. Her helmet remains on, stubbornly, for all that it's worth here.

Even with her face hidden, though, her sour attitude is present in her posture, her movements, the way she'll toss something aside in a rare show of pique.

For anyone that approachs, they're greeted by a stare - glare? - and her stopping what she's doing. Guess who isn't welcome?

Hint: It's You.]

--

((Can adjust format/etc as needed! I'll match yours.))

Arrival!

[nothingtoknives]

Hearing someone call out "halt" is never a good sign. Billy's hand immediately goes to his belt, twitching to his handles, as he slowly turns. And stares. Just what in seven hells is he looking at? A "knight" of some sort, in gleaming armor.

A knife might not be easy to penetrate that.

"Do you need something?" He asks, staring up at that one eye that he can see, bright blue in the crack of silver. Shoulders squared, head up, he's a proud man and won't subject himself to whatever this person wants.

Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin

[preciousbrat]

Arrival

Where am I? This place looks nothing like the place I have fallen asleep

Curious he looked around, searching for something familiar but all he saw was a surrounding he had never seen before.

The young man stood motionless, noticing that the trees were all dead and that there was no sign of live around him. Not a single bird was flying across the sky, which was of an odd red color. Again he asked where he was and how he got here.

The silence around him began to get irksome and Eren realized that he wasn't used to silence anymore. He didn't know why, but he thought about this silence as a different type of what he's used to. This was dead silence not a silence that was temporary. He didn't know why he was making this assumption or why he was so sure, that he was right.

Slowly he made his way through this odd place. He walked for a while, before he came to an abandoned town. A shiver ran down his spine and he had to remind himself, that he had seen other things in his young life. But there was still the nagging though on his mind, that something was rotten but he couldn't put finger on what it was.

Eren had no clue how long he had walked through this town, when he saw another person who was walking over to one of the shops. He stepped over to the person, warily checking the person out from head to toe, before he asked "Excuse me. Do you why exactly this place's called 'Home between Homes'?"

Punishment (TW: cutting)

Here he was, facing the oldest sin he had committed. Back then he had been merely a child of nine years. Everyone who had looked at him had seen a small boy with huge green eyes and a cheeky smile on his face, always together with his adopted sister.

None of them was aware that the boy was responsible for the death of two grown up men. Not even his parents had ever know his secret. The only person who knew it, was his adopted sister. She was the reason why he had lost his innocence at such a young age.

He didn't feel any pain as the blade cut through his flesh. He had expired worse things. This was really 'just a cut'. If the situation wouldn't be so serious he would have laughed, when he heard from the shop owner that he should do the marking himself. Didn't he knew that self-hard was something he had done countless times, when he had transformed into a Titan? Inside Eren shrugged his shoulders. Maybe this was the real punishment: To mark oneself on its own and not letting other to this.

I can't be the only one here who has taken a life. Isn't murder the sin number one humans commit?

The old question of whether he was a human or a monster crossed his mind. He had come to conclusion that deep inside he was a monster which was wearing a human disguise.

With a blank expression he looked at his the back of his right hand. The fresh wound was in the shape of the letter "M". He knew that it would take a few days for this wound to heal and leave a scar. It would be the first scar on his body in the 19 years he was living. This time is unusual healing ability wouldn't do him a favour and close the wound. He was like everyone human.

In the back of his mind he was asking himself, if he was still having his ability to turn into a Titan or if he had lost it, when he had entered his new life in Penance. Will I miss this ability or will I be glad that I got rid of this burden?

Laurent | Captive Prince

[anguinous]

Arrival:

Laurent has never seen a car before, or a bike, or a place built in anything like the style of Penance. The concept is strange to him, too, although the word penance has meaning. Matched with the oppressive, red sky it leaves him feeling uneasy as he picks his way through the dead landscape.

His heart races like a cornered animal, yet Laurent keeps himself outwardly cool. Even when you're afraid, Laurent has learnt, you must not show it. Never expose a weakness. The weak are picked off early.

So he walks like he owns the place. Laurent walks through the silent gates, into the strange town like nothing bothers him. His tightly, dark clothing makes him feel oppressively hot -- covers all of him save his hands and face but Laurent refuses to flinch.

He steels himself, and approaches the first person he sees -- wishing, silently, he didn't feel as if he stood out.

"Do you have a moment?"

Punishment:

It had been easy enough to dismiss most of this as untrue, as perhaps some fever-dream brought on by blood-loss at the hands of Govart.

Yet Laurent is still here, if a little frayed around the edges.

What kind of show of good will is branding yourself, scarring, inking? What kind of redemption for skin is that?

Easy, they claim, this is easy.

Laurent doesn't think it's easy at all. He stands outside the shop watching people come and go and feels is stomach twist, watching people make their way out with their sins marked on them.

Murderer

Thief

Liar

What would he write on his own skin? Would he have a choice?

He hesitates a moment longer before turning to move away -- nearly startling at the person behind him. Laurent swallows, trying to collect some sense of dignity, but his heart still pounds blood quick enough he fears it may be audible.

"Here to seek redemption?"

However much marking yourself might earn.

Punishment

[noassgardian]

"Aren't we all?"

Because the alternative to redemption isn't something that's particularly good. Billy shifts his weight a bit, feeling maybe a little awkward. He already has one bandage wrapped tightly around his arm, but maybe he should add a few more sins to the list. He's got more than one after all.

He just hadn't expected to run into anyone else at the shop, that's all. He'd hoped that it would be empty...

"If you were going in-- I mean.I can wait."

bill cipher (humanization) | gravity falls

[inceptusoverratus]

1 - arrival

The feeling of being shattered into a million pieces was weird and, as one might imagine, very, very unpleasant. What was even more weird and unpleasant is the feeling of all those little pieces stagnating, then zipping back together to re-attach.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he realizes is that he has eyes. Plural.

"What the hell?"

He waves his hand in front of his face, probably looking a bit bizarre to other new arrivals. But his hand draws his attention to the sight in front of him. He stands, reads the sign, and looks up. And slowly, he starts laughing dryly.

"Oh. OH, VERRRRRY FUNNY. Big frilly know-it-all thinks he's clever, I bet."

2. punishment

He didn't want to do this. He may have agreed to atone for some silly mistakes, but he's just now getting used to being gross and fleshy, he's not going to ruin it with branding, no sir.

But he thinks about it for a while. Really, it's not like he's ashamed of what he's done, and it's really just a little thing to get him one step closer out of here.

What takes the longest is figuring out which sin to choose. After all, the list is a good three feet long.

He finally walks out of the shop with thick black ink tattooed on his body. One declares "DECEIVER" across his collarbone, just visible past the collar of his shirt. On his left wrist, "murderer" and "glutton". Might as well kill three birds with one stone.

2

[unspeakablyevil]

Seconds after Bill leaves the parlor, the door is flung violently open and an impossibly tall demon ducks through the doorway on his way out into the red light of day. As he straightens to his full 8 foot height, it's abundantly clear that he's very unhappy. With claws curled into fists by his sides, he hisses and snarls through clenched teeth. The source of his ire is a magical branding on his back, still fresh and sizzling audibly. The glowing white letters stand out in stark contrast to his obsidian skin: 'MURDERER' and 'DECEIVER'. It looks like Bill isn't the only one.

Aku stands there gnashing his teeth in pain for another moment, then shouts at no one in particular, "I despise this place!"