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WEEK ZERO: ARRIVAL
ARRIVAL | |
| ā½ FULL NAVIGATION ā½ LOCATIONS ā½ STATUSES ā½ IC PROFILES ā½ IC RULEBOOK ā½ MURDER PROPOSALS ā½ PCS ā½ CURFEW ā½ ??? ā½ ??? ā½ ??? |
You know how the story goes by now. One minute youāre somewhere familiar, and the next youāre suddenly somewhere else. Unlike previous times before, the source of your rude awakening isnāt a mystery. A harsh jostle causes your body to lunge forward as a tire jumps over a pot hole in the road. Try as you might, itās hard to ignore the steady thrumming of an engine and the gentle sway beneath you. The faint scent of gasoline seems to waft from the outside, but as you look around youāll notice that the windows are locked, tinted, and impossible to see through. Likewise, the door ahead of you appears to be locked as well. Perhaps the scent is your imaginationā¦? Regardless, though the lighting is a tad dim, it becomes apparent that youāre inside a large bus dotted with the occasional seat and amid a jumble of other bodies. The people you were last with may be among your fellow passengers. Perhaps they are not. But worry not; thereās plenty of time to look around and get to know one another on this long, strange trip. It may even be wise to examine the staircase at the other end of the bus. Who knows what awaits you on the other floors? Ah, but before you move too far it may be best to assess the situation. On the bright side, any injuries you incurred have been healed! Isn't it nice to have your limbs in place again? Miracles happen. But...what happened to your clothes? Youāre fairly certain you weren't wearing this t-shirt before...and what's with the denim shorts? Maybe you were fortunate enough to get the knee-length version, but for those of you waking up in bootyshorts...well, we're sure you look great! And what better way to tie the whole look together than white socks and tan sandals? At least you'll be comfortable for the ride. Lucky for you, your new threads aren't the only gift you'll receive upon waking up. Attached to your waist is a high-quality bag filled with some fun goodies for every passenger! For those of you who unzip your bag to check its contents, you will find: -Dry shampoo No other items are on your person at this time, even if you were holding onto it as you began your previous departure. That's a bit troublesome, isn't it? Not really; it's still a bus. Be grateful for the extra elbow room, alright? Oh, and one last thing...on the wrist of every passenger is a small, equally fashionable white scrunchie. Not your style? Perhaps it's a good idea to give the travel guide another read. Searching the bus from top to bottom will net zero results in the way of an escape. All of the windows are similarly tinted and locked, and the only exit door appears to be the one on the first level that can't be opened at this time. But hey. You're all old pros at this, right? You know what to do next! Get to know the people around you, trade stories with your fellow passengers, and...well. Buckle up for the bumpy ride ahead. |
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Sanji can't even be mad for a hot second because -- well, damn, he feels that complaint in his soul and knows it'll take all of two hours before the knives are gone--
But the shock doesn't last long and there's an affronted noise of disdain as he very, very purposefully nudges his elbow into this intruder]
Oi. Shithead. Kitchen's full, wait your goddamn turn.
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No thanks, Shithead, I called dibsies! You didn't hear it, but I did it like an hour ago.
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Sanji hates that he's less pissed about this revelation than he should be.
-- Also he's fuckin ticklish, don't do that, jackass. Sanji squirms slightly.]
Then you should've done your cooking then! I'm a chef by trade, so I'm calling the shots now.
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Chef by trade-- Ch'yeah, okay, call me when you've published eight critically acclaimed cookbooks, had your face on the cover of Neverwinter Living Homemaker's Edition twice, and gotten a full line of cookware in Bullseye stores across the nation. Hobbyists! I can't stand it.
1/2
[Hm.
Nevermind Sanji hates this fucker]
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[Refusing to leave. Refusing to budge. He can suppress his ticklish urges]
I don't give a damn about all of that, I'm still a better chef than you, easily.
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[Just . . . ignoring the threats. This is probably pretty regular.]
Anyway, doubt it. I'm quite good. I can call my tank in here and clear this place out if you aren't gonna voluntarily leave, my guy.
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I'll kick both of your asses.
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Starts to cook. Ominously chopping a cucumber.]