geistnet | I'm Waking Up: Origin Stories.

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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'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. ]

[ An amused snort before he's leaving the clothes in her care. ]

I can heal you without having to touch you. I hope that's acceptable, because if I let this go, my King will never let me live down the fact that I could not dress and tend to an injured child.

[ (You mean Kaien and Makoto will not let you live it down. They are watching this exchange, by the way.)

Same thing. And let them. I might need them to take care of her when we get back. ]

[ That is quite possibly the most awful thing that anyone could tell her. You killed the Masters, were one of the men who freed them all, and because she is unable to get over her own discomfort, the King of the Lightless Lands ( no, she can't quite wrap her head around a potentially benevolent monarch ) will not be pleased.

She's going to... obediently step forward now and volunteer everything that you need to know by pulling back the sleeves covering a cut that looks like it might be festering, among several bruises that have hit their darkest peak.

There is an itch somewhere beneath her left shoulder blade from when she was scratched by one of the others because the girl ( more beast than girl, really ) got angry because she would not share her food.

Her feet are possibly the ones that look the worst, but then, she went walking over the pools of blood in the main corridor. ]

[ No flinching from this one. He's used to injury just as much as he is used to dealing it upon select targets. ]

Should I take this as "yes, sir, you may touch me?"

[ Trying for a bit more humor now, wrapped up in an actual question. Her Masters did not do humor.

That was probably one of the many reasons why he had felt the need to destroy them himself. What's a world without humor? ]

[ There's a stiff nod from this one borne out of apprehension more than anything else.

He is kind; that is unnerving. He speaks to her as if she had the right to speak back; that leaves her unsure.

A little louder than a whisper now: ] I do not wish to cause you trouble.

[ He'd reach out and ruffle your hair if he thought you'd be comfortable with it.

In time, perhaps. ]

I appreciate the thought.

[ With that, he's taking hold of her arm and letting his fingers run over the wound. It heals instantly, and with nothing but a mild itching sensation on the girl's end. After that, a bit of water is bubbling up from just around her feet, seeping through the stones. It carries the blood away. ]

There's another wound close to your shoulder blade. I can do that without getting close. [ Smiling now. ] It wouldn't do to have you looking indecent in front of me.

[ And yes, he's speaking like she gets to control the situation, not him. And like he's perfectly fine with it, because that is just how things ought to be. ]

Edited 2014-08-19 16:40 (UTC)

[ If there was a way to appropriately describe her wonder at the kindness he's offered, it can only be in the way she blinks down at the injuries that are no longer there as she runs her fingers hesitantly over her own skin.

This one is lifting her gaze back to his now, and since they're relatively close, she finds herself blinking at the unique color of his eyes before her gaze drops, once again, to the ground. ]

[ Well, he gets that a lot. It should be clear in the small, amused sound he makes and that distinct crook in his smile that he doesn't take offense at all.

Standing up now, and bringing his mask back up over the lower half of his face. The itch on your back should be gone, child. ]

Let's find you a place to change before we go back to the others. We need to leave soon.

[ There's a stiff nod of assent from her end before she starts to walk, stops, and looks back at the soldier as if waiting on him. She doesn't quite notice the itch being gone ( she will, soon enough, when she changes, ) then again, she's developed a knack of tuning out distractions like itches and aches.

She'll wait for you to move and follow in your wake, sir. ]

[ And move is exactly what he does, without prompting. He understands her on a visceral level. It's actually a little disturbing...

But he'll dwell on that later. She wouldn't be the first. She certainly won't be the last.

It doesn't take him too long to find a decent place: an outhouse, one miraculously intact after the assault of his armies. He opens the door for her, and gestures for her to go inside. ]

I'll be out here.

[ To wait on her, and to make sure nobody disturbs her. There is also that business of him not being able to have a cigarette since the fights started up. ]

[ Have another nod then, sir, before she's stepping carefully into that outhouse to change. She doesn't take very long either. The clothes are fairly upfront, even if they feel too new against her skin. This is actually the moment when she realizes that the itching is gone and the only real cause for delay since she ends up pulling off the shirt so that she can stretch her arm and reach over to her back to check for herself.

You'll likely hear the rustling of fabric, and the tiny exhale of surprise before she's finally ( and shyly ) stepping out.

She likes these clothes ~~even if they are new~~. They are warm.

She does look a little helpless though. How does one... use... footwear. ]

[ He's glancing over once she's out. The mask is back down since he was working through another cigarette...

...Right. You've probably never worn shoes or anything close to them during your entire durance. He tosses the stick now, and crouches down in front of her with another smile. ]

Here. I'll help you with that.

[ And this time, he isn't going to wait for her to say yes, or give some sort of indicator that she's all right with it. Lacing and buckling those boots of yours up now. ]

[ There's another startled sound as she freezes. But she stays very still and complies without protest. Footwear is foreign to her, something they were never allowed.

So she watches, observes, and attempts to make sense of how those thin ropes and metal things work. ]

[ And you'll never know it, girl, but he's deliberately slower than he could be with the boots just to give you time to watch him. You seem to be all about observing your surroundings.

Makes sense. The Lost who survive Arcadia got by on watching everything.

He stands up again once he's finished, and looks off towards his contingent. His soldiers are checking on him through the psychic network that Tala set up for them. Everyone's ready. ]

Let's go. We'll be moving on foot for about a week.

[ A week of walking. Somehow, the idea of it feels overwhelming.

She only nods though, before she sneaks a glance to the other soldiers; the other children.

She will follow where the army goes. There was never anything but the Pit for her here. ]

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