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peacockstop2024-10-15 09:00 pm
TDM 06
【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
On behalf of the house and resort, we would like to advise all Game 52 players to exercise caution around the Golden Peacock for the next few weeks. The veil between 'what is' and 'what has been' grows thin and the threads of fate have tangled in unexpected ways. We are currently observing how these two phenomena behave when they occur simultaneously and act in concert.
We advise that all guests monitor their physical states until the veil thickens once again and the threads of fate return to running parallel. If you find yourself undergoing any strange transformations, please report to the Broken Wing clinic for observation. We will do our utmost to make sure you are comfortable during this time.
You may also notice other strange phenomena around the Golden Peacock while the veil is thin. Please continue to exercise caution. New wayward spirits have joined us during this time. While spirits are crossing, it is possible for guests to get swept along into the ghostly realm.
As always, please let us know if there is anything we can do to improve your stay. 】
HEADS
TAILS
MAIN LOBBY
BACK HALLWAYS & STAIRS
MONSTER MASH
THE VALE
SMOKED EGG
BALANCE RETURNS
OOC NOTES
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's October event. Changes to the above locations will ICly be present from October 15th - November 3rd. All supernatural phenomenon will increase in strength over time, culminating in peak activity on All Hallows' Eve. The days following Halloween will relax, leading into eventual normalcy. Some locations are spared the supernatural frenzy, so players can play as normal if they wish to avoid these tropes/prompts. Players may assume that the supernatural come and go in the above specifically incorporated locations.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate. This TDM in particular has the potential to get real wild, so we want to emphasize this request!
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
▶ Go forth and let your freak flag fly!
no subject
"You think I'm gonna get hurt by my own fire, dumbass?"
The heat building in his chest is starting to reach its peak, licks of flame starting to spill past jagged teeth even if he tries to contain them, and the jagged tip of his tail whacks into the floor behind him as one, final, unspoken warning. Fuuta's next exhale comes black with smoke, his eyes bright with concentration, and the moment that Pinocchio raises a foot to take another step towards him --
it actually is an impressive display he puts on, a deluge of flames exploding forth from his throat. Though they lack in density or heat, lacking the sheer destructive force of something like a flamethrower, it's still more than enough to scare off the average person. After all, what kind of person wants to risk wide-spread second-degree burns just for the sake of a few chips?
hey turns out when oil runs through your veins you're p flammable
Thank modern-day fire-retardant technologies.
His body, highly resistant to environmental hazards, is sturdy enough to handle something like this at the best of times. But he's never gone this long without maintenance (or a death that's reset his condition), there's no telling what the level of compromise clockwork seized for months by petrification might have. No one's opened him up to check.
Flames lick around him as he bursts out the other side of the deluge, blue eyes flashing with the feral focus of a predator locking onto prey. Locks of dark hair smolder, his shirt smudged by the heat. One foot lands first, he turns his heel, redirecting his momentum, about to run him down. But the steely left arm he cocks back is ablaze, and perhaps a canister inside the hydraulics of his arm has suffered a slow leak, perhaps a gasket for an oil line has come loose.
The cause can be discovered later. His prosthesis bursts apart at the forearm with a sound like a gunshot, a bright bloom of ignition. He drops on a knee and the other hand, mouth agape in surprise. There's a shard of steel — part of the plating that had formerly covered his forearm — jutting from his side. The stink of oil fills the air.
whoopsie teehee
He promptly whips around where he's standing, shifting to position himself defensively when that blur of movement explodes out of the side of the blaze, teeth gritted in frustration. What the hell is this guy? He's seriously raring for another go? Fuuta backs off a step, starting to gather another gout of flames at the back of his throat. Is he going to make it in time? Hard to tell. But there's no way he's going to just roll over and admit defeat. He has to at least try --
then there's the sound of shattering steel, accompanied by an explosion of flames that he didn't cause.
A combination of the noise and the blast of hot air has Fuuta falling on his ass in shock, a panicked squeak escaping him as he frantically drags himself back away from whatever the hell is going on. The first thing he sees, of course, is the gout of fire still spewing from the remains of Pinocchio's arm. Then he sees that shrapnel shard protruding from the guy's side.
"... a-aah --" Flames escape him once more, but it's just a sputter this time, choked out alongside a horrified gasp as he backs off further. "-- th -- that wasn't my fault! I didn't do that!"
cw: body horror, immolation
Pinocchio's as much part of this as he is, and the puppet, with pain an old friend and to death, the one that keeps getting away, turns his gaze towards him. Without the aggression, replaced now by horror, Fuuta looks small and... kind of weak. It's not pity that spurs the puppet to think of his safety, it's a little more central to the core of who he has become.
A slick of black is blooming around and down from the metal jutting from his side, the reek of machine oil and smoke beginning to billow out from him. The sparks and sputters from his ruined prosthetic catch, eagerly licking up the oil he's asperating around the shrapnel embedded in him. He spasms, biting back a sound, as he feels himself ignite from inside. There's not much time now, the fuel lines that deliver Ergo to every part of his body have ignited. Synthetic skin begins to bubble and char, starting with his side and climbing up his collar. All he can hear is a whistle-shrieking roar as all the things that make him what he is boils and burns at the same time.
"Get up," he demands. Black smoke curls from his mouth and nostrils. His voice stutters, a crackle, like static, and from his darkening eyes runs something like burnished gold. The lifelike skin around it chars and curls, burned by molten material, "Run."
no subject
Fuuta watches in unmasked horror as that stain spreads from the puncture point, too dark and too acrid to be blood. The billow of smoke through the air is starting to sting at his eyes, clogging up his throat, and his next panicked breaths cut off with a hacking cough; his hands, clammy with anxious sweat, squeak against the flooring when he reflexively drags himself back another step, away from the mess that he's caused. But he can't seem to tear his eyes away from it. Even as skin crackles and warps, even as the doll's body jolts in place from misfiring connections, even as he finds himself shaking his head in desperate denial, Fuuta stares with eye wide and jaw clenched in terror.
It's really more reflex than conscious thought that even has him responding to that guttural demand.
He stands not because he wants to, not because he's heeding Pinocchio's words, but because on some level, his body registers it as the only way to keep himself safe. And though it takes him far too much effort to tear his gaze away from the growing inferno and the crackle of flames, he does eventually manage to look away. Pinocchio won't have to repeat himself -- Fuuta runs like his life depends on it, and doesn't look back.
👀👀👀 oof love that tag
Pinocchio can't tell if he's been heeded. His sight has gone dark, he hears only the shrieking whistle and thunderous roar of fire ravaging his body until his hearing, too, burns up. All the rest is a riotous symphony of agony playing one catastrophic note that stretches on for an age.
Tock.
In the column of flames where there was a boy, blue motes of light begin to swirl into the air, like sparks from a campfire, like luminous spores.
Tick.
The hands of time rewind. Elsewhere in the Vale, these specks of blue light coalesce, gathering in a single spot, beginning to piece him back together, untouched by smoke and flame.