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I'm Waking Up: Origin Stories.

You’re an old man who had a nasty run-in with Something That Went Bump in the Night, and once believed that the only way to make sure that you never had another problem like that again was to pick up a gun and shoot supes in the face before they killed you or hurt your family – and then some government shitheads called you up and told you that they’re your friends, you all have to get along. They took your weapons, sent you to some fucking program that felt too much like Alcoholics Anonymous. You hang up on them every time they check on you, but they still know exactly what you’re doing, every second of every day.

You’re a house wife in a quiet little town, accustomed to turning a blind eye towards the strange things that happened to people after dark because the local police either didn’t have a clue or were letting those things happen in the first place – and then some nice people in coats came in from God Knows Where, arrested some crooked cops, and made it all go away.

You make a new batch of cookies every Sunday, to give to the coated fellows who still hang around at the street corners downtown; some of them are young, so very young, and remind you of your younger brother. Your little ones want to be just like them someday.

You’re the kid who learns Judo rather than Track and Field after Math every day (Teacher Felipe says that you have to know how to defend yourself), then takes a quiz all about vampires, fairies and werewolves in Occult Studies. Every Wednesday, you tumble around with your classmates, and get mad whenever your best friend does his Superman thing and beats everyone to the top of the hill by flying there. Every Friday, a guy with more guns than you have teeth comes to school, takes over PE classes, and talks to everyone about what he does for a living. Sometimes, he takes “special kids” with him to another school, for special people like them. You hope that he won’t take your best friend away.

You’re the manager of one of the biggest call centers in the country. You’re happy because life’s been great ever since you opened your doors to the local vampire community. They’re damned good at their jobs, and you don’t have to deal with the HR nightmare of overtime, of medical bills and lawsuits anymore. And you feel safe, because you know that if one of them ever steps out of line, you know exactly who to call.

You’re the girl who leapt through time, who met a handsome stranger who took you to a fantastic place full of talking trees and flying fish, the girl who was loved and fucked and tossed aside when you started getting boring.

You came home and found that your house wasn’t your house anymore, that your parents have been dead for decades and all of your friends were old and gray while you haven’t aged at all.

They found you crying on a swing. They told you what happened, and helped you set things right.

You’re the drunkard at the local bar who sees monsters in every face, and still remembers what it was like years ago, when you didn’t have to be afraid of the dark, or wonder what’s beneath all the human skin and human smiles of every person you meet. The Truth fucked you up, you see. You wish that once upon a time, you had the better sense not to listen.

Whoever you are, if you were born between 1999 and 2066, you know about Hunters. You know about the conspiracies and compacts they are a part of, and the Vigil they keep between Day and Night, Light and Shadow. You know that some of them are human, and some of them aren’t, and some of them are somewhere in between. You know about why they’re here, and what they do while nobody’s looking. Hate them, love them, worship them, or revile them: it doesn’t matter. The World of Light and the World of Darkness have blended together, and that means that Hunters are around to stay.

o r i g i n s t o r i e s.

This post is devoted to threading out the stories of player characters of Waking the Dead prior to their arrival at the Falner Estate. Tag in and tell us yours. We have a feeling it's a good one.

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[ She distantly remembers what it is, the moon. She remembers it in that way that you know you are breathing, that your heart is beating, that bruised knuckles and skinned knees mean you must get up and fight to live another day. You don't need the words or the names for things like that. They just are. They really just are.

She pries her gaze away from the bright circle in the sky to look around her. She does not know that the word she is looking for is 'displacement'. She sees the others who are like her milling about ( except no, not all of them were thrown into the Pit to fight and to kill in order to eat, to hide away beneath the floorboards and be allowed another opportunity to sleep ) and she lifts a hand to the center of her chest where it feels like a fist is wringing her dry.

It is strange, this 'liberation'. One of the boys -- the scrawny one who can no longer walk right -- said that they will be taken to the Lightless Lands as tributes by the command of the King. He had said the words with wet eyes and an uncomfortable expression of joy that made her shy away and slip out, past the gates to where she is standing now.

He has not been long among them, that one. Not as long as she, or the others who have had multiple turns fighting in the Pit. What could he possibly know about the cruelty of the Masters, or how promises are meaningless no matter how well-meant.

It is not that she is ungrateful. The Masters were harsh and she is not sorry that all that is left of them are the pools on the floor where the blood has yet to dry. It is just that she knows not what to expect of a monarch who names himself a weapon. ]

Edited 2014-08-18 16:40 (UTC)

[He's moving alongside his soldiers because that is simply what he does. Hikaru's as hands on with his operations within Arcadia as he is with the ones that take place in the Fifth World. The only problem is that Arcadia has different rules, one that require him to be a little more subtle about things.

Subtlety, in this case, means keeping his human skin on instead of letting Arcadia's influence bring the face of what used to be Little Wolf out. It also means dressing like an officer in the forces of the Nalimutan of the Lightless Lands, which conveniently includes a mangeyko. The Blade King's face is known all over Arcadia. A violet-eyed Nalimutan by the name of Yun Song is not.

So there he is, seated on some rubble from when his kingdom's ballistae had ripped the castle open for him. He's eating an Goblin Fruit, and watching the soldiers move the "tributes" out. They all act gently, and with discretion. Each of the Nalimutan were prisoners once, just like these children.

They also all know who he really is, but they won't ever address him as their liege lord. At least they won't out here.]

[ It's when one of those soldiers starts walking her way that she moves from where she's standing. She knows well enough what it's like to be herded, and even if the soldiers are treating the others with a kind of care she'd never seen from the Masters, it's been far too long since she's known a gentle hand for her to want to be touched.

She spies him one she ducks past some of the debris: the soldier from earlier on.

He'd left quite the impression on her, with the sheer elegance of his brutality, the efficiency by which he'd cut down those among the Masters who'd resisted.

Creeping quietly behind some crates, she crouches low to watch him and ignores the soft rumble of her own stomach at the sight of the fruit cradled in his armored hand. ]

[And her scent and the distinct, unique weight of her eyes, he remembers. Not that she will notice that he has picked up on her presence, of course.

Not until he's finished the Fruit, brought the mask back over the lower half of his face, and stood up. He moves towards the tree a stone's throw away from him, and starts picking more Fruits. His soldiers will want some, and --]

Want one?

[Asking that of the girl, as he looks over his shoulder and straight in her direction.]

[ To her credit, she only flinches a little.

Curiosity and wariness are warring within her. It was never like the Masters to offer any of their fighters food so casually.

She blinks at the soldier, wordless... and shakes her head as she sucks in her stomach as if to keep it from rumbling again. ]

[You're getting a lifted eyebrow for that, girl.]

I can hear your hunger, you know.

[Just like how he had heard you trying to quiet your breath by muffling your mouth behind your own hand as he had eviscerated your Masters in the distance.]

The Blade King's lands are far from here. You're going to need to eat.

[ She swallows. There doesn't seem to be a point in hiding since he knows that she hasn't been fed. Truth be told, she can feel her mouth watering as she looks past him to the tree.

She'll walk over cautiously, her gaze sliding back over towards him as she approaches. ]

[And he'll watch her right back. It's too bad that she can't see the way that he's smiling.

Here: let him save you the trouble of fetching one of the things for yourself. He'll hold one out in your direction, open-palmed. A harmless gesture. An offering.

His aura is different from what it had been back in the castle. He has no intention of hurting you.]

[ It has been a long, long time since she found shame in fear where the strong are concerned. Fear is good. Fear keeps you alive. And those who inspire and wield it well are, in some ways, deserving of much respect.

That the Fruit is offered in an open palm makes her frown, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to reconcile kindness with a hand that wielded the swords at the soldier's sides.

She'll take it ( if albeit awkwardly ) and then take a hesitant bite as her eyes look back up at him. ]

[He watches her for a moment before turning away with a satisfied nod. He continues picking Fruits as she eats, at least up until one of his soldiers quietly comes in to take them from him.

After that, though, he's settling back down and watching her, as if he's waiting for something. Truth be told, he's waiting for her to finish.]

[ She is used to eyes watching her; one has to, given the way of the Fights. But she has focused her attentions on the Fruit, and she is devouring it as if it might disappear if she savors it for too long. When she is done, she wipes her hands on the shirt that she wears and tilts her face to her shoulder sleeve.

She turns back to him, but she hesitates to lift her eyes. There is something she should be saying, but she is so unused to the kind of kindness he's offered her way that she does not remember the words.

Her gaze strays quietly off to the side and she blinks when she catches sight of a dark, jagged piece of stone big enough to span her entire hand. It is the kind of stone she would use to crack another child's skull if it meant that she would step out of the Pit victorious, with an edge that she could jab him with if the force of impact did not do the trick.

There's a crack close to the middle of that piece of rock, and through that crack, a flowering weed that blooms only at night has attempted to grow.

She glances over at the soldier but does not seek his permission to go and pick it up. She keeps her shoulders down, her head subservient in the language of what she knows. He killed her Masters with little to no effort. She knows better than to attempt anything even if the thought itself is far from her mind.

She's offering you the stone, sir -- flower and all. This is the only way she knows how to express her appreciation.

( That kind of flower used to grow on the damp stones that lined that walls of her Masters' home. She had tried to keep one, once, when she managed to sneak it down into her little room beneath the floor, and had awoke to the sight of it withered sunrise. She did not feel regret for taking it. Beautiful things do not last long, by her experience. It is just the way of the world. ) ]

[ He's appraising all of that with his chin in hand, and the amusement clear in his eyes. This one distinctively reminds him of Kalika, only far more damaged.

That's saying a lot, by the way. ]

They call that flower Daylight's Promise. [ A small chuckle. ] A morbid name for a pretty thing, if you ask me.

[ Then he's getting up and taking the stone. ]

Thank you. You didn't have to, though.

[ Of course he understood your intentions. He's kind of used to dealing with children like yourself. ]

Edited 2014-08-19 03:31 (UTC)

[ She's backing up again as soon as he takes the stone an then nodding stiffly to indicate that she understood.

Her lips part and a small sound comes out. It has been a long, long time since she felt the need to use words.

She tries again: ]

What will become of us, [ her voice is small; it is also low and hoarse from lack of use, ] In the Lightless Lands?

[ The name they have given the Blade King's kingdom seems so foreboding. What kind of land would merit such a description to begin with? ]

Edited 2014-08-19 03:37 (UTC)

[ (So the creature has a voice.)

That's a "she", not an "it", Brother.

(Maybe so, but I do not think she believes that yet.)

Then we're going to work on that.) ]

You'll get to decide what becomes of you because my King believes in choice. That is what will happen. [ And now, another appraising look in your direction. ] Your clothes aren't fit for travel, and you are injured. I will need to see to that.

Edited 2014-08-19 03:41 (UTC)

[ She's going to blink up at him at that, before she blinks down at herself and what she has been wearing for as long as she can remember. The trousers were from the body of her first kill in the Pit. The hem is frayed and the patch on her right knee was from a torn rag. Her shirt was from another victory and is the sturdiest piece of clothing that she has ever had the privilege to wear.

Nights get cold in this place, and when nights get cold, the damp seeps in and most who cannot handle the temperature die in their sleep. She's never had that problem after she'd acquired the shirt. ]

[ He knows what you are thinking, child. Shaking his head more out of amusement than anything else, and moving off to place his hand against a ruined wall. You'll get to watch, girl, as he pulls a small cloak, a pair of boots, a new pair of pants and a much better shirt from it. ]

These will be warmer. But first... [ In a slightly firmer tone. ] Your injuries.

[ It is not that very few things surprise her. Magic is commonplace in a world where the monsters exist. But what you'll see now is the surprise on this one's face, and an almost fearful question in her eyes over what she wiill need to pay in exchange for such kind generosity. ]

They will heal, [ be respectful now, remember your place. ] Sir.

[ And because she feels compelled to say it. ]

I can fight. I am one of the few who have lasted longest in the Pit.

I'm aware of that. I'm also aware of the fact that if you so choose to, you will be able to fight better, much less walk better, if you're fully healed.

[ He's holding the clothes out to you now, by the way. It must have been odd, seeing a trained killer handling something as mundane as folding clothes. ]

[ She will take them, albeit helplessly, because she is unsure of what might happen if she does not.

She does not hunch, but there are subtle indicators that the idea of troubling another distresses her. Healing means touch, and she has seen many a terrible thing when the newer, younger ones cried for wounds to be tended to, for cuts to be stitched.

She will take the clothes because they were offered. But the bruises will fade, the wounds will scab over and all will be well as it always has.

She knows her place. Scars are badges. They do not trouble her in the least. ]

[ ...Sigh.

(You will have to excuse me if I find this amusing.)

Fuck you too, Brother. With deep love and great affection.

When he speaks again, his tone is lower and gentler. He's also crouching down to your height. ]

You're not comfortable being touched. It's because of your Masters, isn't it?

[ Forgive her, sir, if you crouching down makes her instinctively step back a little.

Are her eyes a little wide at the question? For long three seconds, yes.

There's a crease between her brows and a crinkle on her forehead as she tries to contemplate how to answer that question. ]

[ With the way the girl's reacting, it's almost as if being spoken to was enough to do some sort of harm.

He's familiar with that feeling.

A press of the button on one side of his jaw, and the mask is lowering. Maybe it would help to let her see his face. ]

This isn't a test. We of the Lightless Lands are nothing like the cretin who ruled you.

[ She stiffens when he moves his hand--

--and then that mask lowers.

And then she's not quite sure what to feel at the sight of the face that's looking back at her.

He looks ( to put it mildly ) too pretty to be a soldier.

Give her a bit, this is slightly shocking. ]

[ ...

It's very hard to not be amused at what she is thinking. Very, very hard.

Okay, yeah. He's smiling again. ]

Were you expecting large fangs and grisly scars and too much hair?

[ There is... no answer she can think of that doesn't end with her possibly offending him.

So she's going to look back down at the clothes instead. ]

Sometime during Hikaru Shinta's trip to Arcadia from January 10-17, 2066.

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