[The first thing you meet is darkness and a foul, stale air that hits you like a wall of fire. It’s sweltering hot in the darkness, acrid humidity slicking your skin and stinging your throat with every breath.
As your eyes adjust (if they do), you stand on a battered street of bitumen half-melted under your feet, beneath a heavy black smog that hangs almost low enough to touch. There’s no sky down here, no sunlight, and you are very much down beneath something; For the graffitied bases of impossibly large support columns loom up and into the sky you can’t see, making what once was a wide street little more than a meandering alleyway.
It’s empty of people and noise: No rumble of cars, no movement or music or distant voices. Just the occasional gleam of reflective eyes in the darkness as cats and rats dart past in their game of survival.]
((OOC: Please hop in #noregretse if at all possible!))
[You don’t want to stick around this bullshit, do you? Lucky you: With the vague hum and beep of a boot up noise, this tutorial bunny has popped out of existence to help!]
I’m the tutorial guide, here to introduce you to basic gaming concepts for pathetic pre-2082 cavemen!
Please complete the following time wasting tutorial to access the Stage Menu and start the game. Cutscene skipping is disabled. Escaping is disabled. Pause is disabled. Choose a tutorial subject by using voice selection!
> Important Game Terms. > Area Map. > Accessing the inventory. > Terms and Conditions.
[In an instant, the reality around you melts away into a black loading screen. The title ‘Donner Party’ is replaced with a glowing scrawl in the corners of your vision:
Before the cheery neon setting of a cartoon sushi bar, all decked out in bright plastic colors, flickers into existence with a chirpy: Level 1!
♪ Laid-back music rings out over a tinny PA system, and the walls are covered in encouraging signs: Taste delicious! Sub-humans welcome! :)
A conveyor belt loops through the room, surrounded by semi-comfortable stools, appearing and disappearing into two human sized holes in the back wall of the restaurant. The belt is decked out with all sorts of delicious morsels:
A slice of vanilla cake. A fresh slice of white meat, lightly singed. A frosted cake slice, cut so only the first letters of C and O is visible. A bottle of oh so fancy liquor.
It goes around and around, the plates identical every time they emerge.
[In an instant, the reality around you melts away into a black loading screen. The title ‘Murdering the Time’’ is replaced with a glowing scrawl in the corners of your vision:
: “No time. No date. The rain outside fell like a heavy-handed metaphor-- Drowning out the silence before crashing to the ground. ♪ I listened to the background music and thought: it always started the same way.
They walked through my door looking like roadkill chewed up by the sixty ton tracks of a M1A3 Abrams. There’s three miles of bad road between here and my office, and in a city where everyone’s googling for trouble they took one too many hits.”
[> You are now the gorgeous dame walking into his monochromic office.
Which is to say each of you, regardless of gender, size or whatever you were wearing before, are now in a low-cut red dress.
Almost the entire room of the Noir office is in black and white, including the trenchcoat wearing figure sitting behind the desk, nursing his sorrows with a pot of steaming coffee while he monologues your arrival.
There’s an extra cup of coffee on the desk, starting to go cold.
The only splash of color comes from a board on the wall with names pinned to it, most of which are in team colors.
There’s a piano in the corner, an exact copy of the one available in the cafe, and it’s playing the simplistic background music you can all hear.]
You stand on a street tinted red, and so do quite a few other people. They stand on street corners. They lean against walls. They kneel down and open their mouth when grabbed-
I hope no children are present.
The strange thing, these people are never the same. They change appearance constantly to suit base desires; Bigger assets, taller or shorter, blue skin and elf ears, missing limbs and eyes that pop in and out, soft, muscular, young, old, too young, furred and less than human.
The many options, the casual sexuality and easy offering should be arousing, but instead there’s a sense of nausea.
Only sometimes do you catch a glimpse of what lies beneath the avatars: Headless dolls with ball jointed limbs, empty necks lolling and body moved by puppet strings.
Well, except for this friendly dude in a suit and with a sword.]
[In an instant, the reality around you melts away into a black loading screen. The title ‘Trauma Central’’ is replaced with a glowing scrawl in the corners of your vision:
There’s two mechanical eyeballs (yellow-gold) resting on the pillow, and a set of metal tendons for the legs, all made of tiny cubes put together like legos.
The same goes for the heart built of flesh on the table.
To one side of the room is a bucket full of throbbing, living flesh cubed like legos. Chunks of brain, liver and organs go well with the rest of the flesh and fat and bones.
To the other is a bucket full of sparking machinery, metal heart, liver and organs cubed the same way with the rest of the metal skin and flesh.
You have a nurse to help you out, and while she’s wearing a medical mask, that blue ponytail and voice is likely familiar to anyone who knew the first group of Celeste. She says:
[Loading... You stand before a warehouse in a void of darkness. The palette is faded and queasy, splashes of dim greens, greys and dark, old red the only colors visible. Even your own colors have become mute.
Beats the hell out of me, I thought we picked a different stage.
[ LOOKING DEFENSIVE FOR A MOMENT but wait I don't have to follow your orders anymore. i-it's okay he can't use gil's last command seal to screw me over ]
[In an instant, the reality around you melts away into a black loading screen. The title ‘Trauma Central’’ is replaced with a glowing scrawl in the corners of your vision:
To one side of the room is a bucket half full of throbbing, living tissue.
To the other is a bucket half full of machinery.
The rest has been used to create a body. Its missing eyes, has a mechanical heart, flesh brain, mechanical liver and organs, and normal bones.]
You have a nurse to help you out, and while she’s wearing a medical mask, that blue ponytail and voice is likely familiar to anyone who knew the first group of Celeste. She says:]
You stand on a street tinted red, and so do quite a few other people. They stand on street corners. They lean against walls. They kneel down and open their mouth when grabbed-
I hope no children are present.
The strange thing, these people are never the same. They change appearance constantly to suit base desires; Bigger assets, taller or shorter, blue skin and elf ears, missing limbs and eyes that pop in and out, soft, muscular, young, old, too young, furred and less than human.
The many options, the casual sexuality and easy offering should be arousing, but instead there’s a sense of nausea.
Only sometimes do you catch a glimpse of what lies beneath the avatars: Headless dolls with ball jointed limbs, empty necks lolling and body moved by puppet strings.
There's a burned out corpse present, still crispy fresh.]
[There’s no loading screen this time. You’re suddenly in a basement, and though it’s dimly lit by stolen lights it’s quite clean. There’s even (only) a very warm and comfortable couch for furniture.
And curled up on said couch is March in a t-shirt and jeans, looking.
Like someone just came and strolled into his heart.
Wow, you think we should just let them go? After they've been traipsing around in here? Wow, why don't we just put up a sign: Please invade our souls, we get off on being violated! Isn't that Shark's job? I'm going to kill them. They can exit and join their friends on the corpsey fuckpile.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
START: LOADING
As your eyes adjust (if they do), you stand on a battered street of bitumen half-melted under your feet, beneath a heavy black smog that hangs almost low enough to touch. There’s no sky down here, no sunlight, and you are very much down beneath something; For the graffitied bases of impossibly large support columns loom up and into the sky you can’t see, making what once was a wide street little more than a meandering alleyway.
It’s empty of people and noise: No rumble of cars, no movement or music or distant voices. Just the occasional gleam of reflective eyes in the darkness as cats and rats dart past in their game of survival.]
((OOC: Please hop in #noregretse if at all possible!))
START: TUTORIAL
Please complete the following time wasting tutorial to access the Stage Menu and start the game. Cutscene skipping is disabled. Escaping is disabled. Pause is disabled. Choose a tutorial subject by using voice selection!
> Important Game Terms.
> Area Map.
> Accessing the inventory.
> Terms and Conditions.
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and rats aren't actually an option.]
Kyou, are you sure you don't want to... I don't know. Visit the dragon?
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MINGLE: STAGE SELECT
[It promptly disappears, and menu options appear. They sparkle faintly in the dead air.]
Stage select!
> Donner Mama.
> Trauma Central.
> Murdering The Time.
> Simulated Affairs.
> Hack ‘n Slash.
> [Locked Level.]
> [Locked Level.]
Re: MINGLE: STAGE SELECT
[ who actually pays attention to tutorial bullshit? this guy ]
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though honestly, break versus teaming up with people.
GOING TO HEAD STRAIGHT FOR DONNER MAMA UNLESS SOMEONE STOPS HIM...]
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Ah, where to...
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Ugh... Now what?
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... contemplating his options tho ]
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...
Well, then, Absinthe-san, do you have any suggestions?
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or if I could get up off the ground. ]
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Moog- WAIT, COPYRIGHT.
MINT (1)
A game over screen fades into your vision, and soon you stand on an empty black plain.]
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SHARK (1)
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ABSINTHE (1)
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LYNX (1)
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STAGE: DONNER MAMA.
[> Loading...
Before the cheery neon setting of a cartoon sushi bar, all decked out in bright plastic colors, flickers into existence with a chirpy: Level 1!
♪ Laid-back music rings out over a tinny PA system, and the walls are covered in encouraging signs:
Taste delicious!
Sub-humans welcome! :)
A conveyor belt loops through the room, surrounded by semi-comfortable stools, appearing and disappearing into two human sized holes in the back wall of the restaurant. The belt is decked out with all sorts of delicious morsels:
A slice of vanilla cake.
A fresh slice of white meat, lightly singed.
A frosted cake slice, cut so only the first letters of C and O is visible.
A bottle of oh so fancy liquor.
It goes around and around, the plates identical every time they emerge.
The only cutlery is a set of sharp knives.]
Re: STAGE: DONNER MAMA.
[ seems
a little disappointed, at least briefly ]
Wh-what should we do, Absinthe-san? Hatter-san?
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STAGE: MURDERING THE TIME
> Loading...]
They walked through my door looking like roadkill chewed up by the sixty ton tracks of a M1A3 Abrams. There’s three miles of bad road between here and my office, and in a city where everyone’s googling for trouble they took one too many hits.”
[> You are now the gorgeous dame walking into his monochromic office.
Which is to say each of you, regardless of gender, size or whatever you were wearing before, are now in a low-cut red dress.
Almost the entire room of the Noir office is in black and white, including the trenchcoat wearing figure sitting behind the desk, nursing his sorrows with a pot of steaming coffee while he monologues your arrival.
There’s an extra cup of coffee on the desk, starting to go cold.
The only splash of color comes from a board on the wall with names pinned to it, most of which are in team colors.
There’s a piano in the corner, an exact copy of the one available in the cafe, and it’s playing the simplistic background music you can all hear.]
Re: STAGE: MURDERING THE TIME
—what the fuck is with this dress!?
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STAGE: SIMULATED AFFAIRS
♪ This is definitely going to be a G rated area.
You stand on a street tinted red, and so do quite a few other people. They stand on street corners. They lean against walls. They kneel down and open their mouth when grabbed-
I hope no children are present.
The strange thing, these people are never the same. They change appearance constantly to suit base desires; Bigger assets, taller or shorter, blue skin and elf ears, missing limbs and eyes that pop in and out, soft, muscular, young, old, too young, furred and less than human.
The many options, the casual sexuality and easy offering should be arousing, but instead there’s a sense of nausea.
Only sometimes do you catch a glimpse of what lies beneath the avatars: Headless dolls with ball jointed limbs, empty necks lolling and body moved by puppet strings.
Well, except for this friendly dude in a suit and with a sword.]
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[Trauma Central]
> Loading...
Before a surgery loads around you. There’s little to this room besides a dirty whiteness, a bed with straps and the scattered pieces of a body. ♪ The music playing is more suited to a mechanic’s shop.
There’s two mechanical eyeballs (yellow-gold) resting on the pillow, and a set of metal tendons for the legs, all made of tiny cubes put together like legos.
The same goes for the heart built of flesh on the table.
To one side of the room is a bucket full of throbbing, living flesh cubed like legos. Chunks of brain, liver and organs go well with the rest of the flesh and fat and bones.
To the other is a bucket full of sparking machinery, metal heart, liver and organs cubed the same way with the rest of the metal skin and flesh.
You have a nurse to help you out, and while she’s wearing a medical mask, that blue ponytail and voice is likely familiar to anyone who knew the first group of Celeste. She says:
Re: [Trauma Central]
Right you are. ☆
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STAGE: HACK 'N SLASH
You stand before a warehouse in a void of darkness. The palette is faded and queasy, splashes of dim greens, greys and dark, old red the only colors visible. Even your own colors have become mute.
The doors are wide open, but you can’t see inside.
♪ Echoes are audible from within.]
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[DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE]
Huh, wait, isn't this the same place? It begins to pour with the rain you heard outside Murdering The Time.
But in place of the tutorial guide is- Oh, it's March!]
Toothy, Sunny, what the fuck are you doing here?
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[ LOOKING DEFENSIVE FOR A MOMENT but wait I don't have to follow your orders anymore. i-it's okay he can't use gil's last command seal to screw me over ]
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[DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE]
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[TRAUMA CENTRAL: ROUND 2]
> Loading...
Before a surgery loads around you. There’s little to this room besides a dirty whiteness, a bed with straps and A FRESH BUILT BODY of machine and flesh. ♪ The music playing is more suited to a mechanic’s shop.
To one side of the room is a bucket half full of throbbing, living tissue.
To the other is a bucket half full of machinery.
The rest has been used to create a body. Its missing eyes, has a mechanical heart, flesh brain, mechanical liver and organs, and normal bones.]
You have a nurse to help you out, and while she’s wearing a medical mask, that blue ponytail and voice is likely familiar to anyone who knew the first group of Celeste. She says:]
[And then she spots the tiny cannibal.]
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[SIMULATED AFFAIRS: ROUND 2]
♪ This is definitely going to be a G rated area.
You stand on a street tinted red, and so do quite a few other people. They stand on street corners. They lean against walls. They kneel down and open their mouth when grabbed-
I hope no children are present.
The strange thing, these people are never the same. They change appearance constantly to suit base desires; Bigger assets, taller or shorter, blue skin and elf ears, missing limbs and eyes that pop in and out, soft, muscular, young, old, too young, furred and less than human.
The many options, the casual sexuality and easy offering should be arousing, but instead there’s a sense of nausea.
Only sometimes do you catch a glimpse of what lies beneath the avatars: Headless dolls with ball jointed limbs, empty necks lolling and body moved by puppet strings.
There's a burned out corpse present, still crispy fresh.]
Re: [SIMULATED AFFAIRS: ROUND 2]
idek what to do here--focus on the crispy body?! or--wait--no. that.
ffffff--wait, tiny cannibal said something]
No. We're not eating people, remember?
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THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
And curled up on said couch is March in a t-shirt and jeans, looking.
Like someone just came and strolled into his heart.
Which is to say: Mildly horrified.]
Re: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
[ I thought I felt better enough to be standing and then I took a step and tipped over like a domino. ]
Re: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
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[DOWN THE LOOKING GLASS???]
The cause is immediately clear.
There's two Marches.
One is smiling, March as he's usually dressed.
The other is a March in jeans and a t-shirt, looking mildly irritated.]
Re: [DOWN THE LOOKING GLASS???]
Re: [DOWN THE LOOKING GLASS???]
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