"I realised that the world ended 5 december 2010,and it's been replaced by what god like being called "The Escapists" like to a call a "Role-play" or an "RP" for short.However they think I have a mental illness because of this.He wrote in my back story that I beat a guy to death because I told him too,as he just needed a reason for them to put him here with good reason."
Victor smiled a manic grin then span around to face Sharrow,still holding a manic grin,saying,a quarter to Ines,a quarter to Sharrow and half to himself.
"And that man by the door is Mr Sharrow,~Writer is Threewords,quite well respected by the other Writers.He's in here because there is,int he words of his writer,no where else to put him.Sir Strange says high by the way Three words."
He looked to the words the video camera was projecting a sighed,upset that he would open the way to Kimiko.He wanted to sees Rains main Character in the flesh.He wanted to tell the bastard he would pay for replacing his real world with a fake one.And Removing the entire concept of free will from his brain.
Sharrow stared at the writing in front of him, apparently speechless with anger, then stiffened further at Victors words, as if galvanised to new heights of outrage. His back ramrod straight, he spun on his heel and lashed out, striking Victor's face with him open palm
"Don't you dare speak like that" he said quietly, coldly, his eyes full of a mad anger crystallised into precise, tightly controlled and finely focussed fury that went beyond any potential meaning the words could have had for him, "Have you no respect for the stability of what we have here? this place is fragile, but I'll not have it broken by one fool's careless words"
Velicia returned to her cell, not wanting to get into any trouble, and seeing everyone starting to get at eachothers throats. I told you it was a bad idea! I'm gonna die! Why me?! Shut it you idiot! God... You act like they are all going to hurt you, just settle down, they will not hurt you, they will hurt eachother, just stay away from them. For once I agree with you.
She sighed, laying on her bed, and counting the squares on the wall over, and over again. Gazing over at a small plant beside her bed, and a single butterfly on the flower. One, two, three, four, five, six, seve-
Her eyes became heavy, and she found herself asleep, tired from roaming around last night, and doing things that she liked to usually do at night.
"Oh well if regardless of betting talk. I like wise look forward to testing my mettle against you in a fight in which nothing..but pride is at stake" Ziva replied as she extended her hand forward to seal the deal and guarantee the fight would happen
Victor went down from the palm attack,collapsing (Goddamn it,why do you have to write me as so weak?)It had got him straight in the nose,not breaking it but making it bleed.He wiped the blood from it and flicked it to the floor,before glaring at Sharrow wearily.He carefully considered what to say before settling one:
"And pray tell,Mr Sharrow,what careless words did I so utter to break this places equilbrillium,what did I say Mr Sharrow? Or is it possible that you're just striking out aggressively because your writer doesn't like me talking about why you're in here? Or maybe some other reason? So tell me Mr Sharrow,what is it that is wrong?"
"You say you are lucid, knowing beyond what we can know, yet for one elightened your foolishness knows no bounds" Sharrow's voice was a whisper now, high and fast. He paused, eyes like gimlets.
"Or perhaps," he continued, voice louder, filled with a new emotion, "I simply do not like you, Victor. Names are important, and the gentleman with the thistle down hair has never once laid claim to a title. He is neither lord nor knight, not sir or mister."
His speech was changing, and so too was his posture; stooping with limbs bent, crouching as if to pounce, with his face contorting with the strength of feeling. Had an orderly been on hand, he would have cleared the corridor and called for help before moving in; this was Sharrow at his most volatile
"I make no claim to be wise,I simply know what is truly happening.I also know what makes us all tick.And I call you MR SHARROW,The Gentleman With The Thistle Down Hair,because that is how he writes me.A Straight man,polite in his anger.And right now he's asking me to punch you as hard in the face as he possibly can,because he feels this would be fun,and would capture a moment of the old asylum.Another RP,this ones predescssor in fact."
Victor had to resist every urge he had in his body to pull back his fist and give it to The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair in the form of a punch to the stomach.He had to resist every urge because that's exactly what Sir Strange wanted him to do.He didn't want to start a fight,not yet.He needed The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair to throw the first punch,yes...
Name: Morgan Blake (although he claims that others have referred to him as the Nameless, Restless, or Broken One. DNA tests and other inquiries have been made, but local, state, and national records haven't turned anything up yet, we are currently appealing to other nations for any relevant information. We are not sure if "Morgan Blake" is his real name, but it was on a nametag that he happened to be wearing when he was committed.)
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Corpse-gray skin, long black hair (worn in dread-locks), unable to determine race, average build, his body is covered in tattoos and "battle scars". He refuses to wear anything other than the "lower body armor" (jean-shorts) that he arrived in.
Emotional/Mental state: Patient seems to switch between three personalities. The first seems to be a classic example of a "knight in shining armor", the second describes itself as "practical" others have described it as "utilitarian", and the last one has been identified as "sadistic". All three personalities are completely unaware of each other, but all of them are aware of a consistent hallucination: a floating skull named "Morte" who seems to aid each personality in the process of recovering his memories.
Reason for being Committed: The patient was committed to the institution when the police apprehended him for mildly assaulting a Miss Sarah Perkins, whom the patient only refers to as "Deioranna". Given that the police report states that he started shaking Miss Perkins before dropping to his knees in front of her and sobbing quietly, it would seem that whoever this "Deioranna" really was, she is inexorably tied to his rich fantasy life.
History: Due to our current inability to track down his real identity, we have been unable to get any kind of history out of the patient that does not have his rich fantasy life lathered onto it. The only consistent details that we have been able to glean from him are; 1. he believes he is immortal, 2. That when he "dies" he will occasionally lose his memory... and 3. Whatever he sees, he perceives it to be a part of some fantastical, and highly unpredictable city called "Sigil" which, as he described it, "the largest, foulest hellhole of a city ever built, spinning at the top of an infinitely long Spire."
Side Notes: The patient seems to be highly skilled at assigning roles to every person he meets so that they fit into his fantasy life. He also seems to be able to move around the Asylum's grounds very quickly and without anyone seeing him. When questioned about this ability, he will only mutter incoherently to himself, the only two words that anyone has been able to catch are "Portals, and "Keys". We have made an inquiry with every staff member, and no one seems to recall losing their keys at any point, and the cameras seem to confirm this. He is also very proficient at starting fires and manipulating electrical equipment to his advantage. He also appears to be highly resilient to injury and nearly immune to a variety of diseases.
Images: see my avatar.
OOC: Note that I am starting with the "Practical" personality.
.........
The Nameless One writhes on his bed, as if being subjected to medieval torture. His dreams offering him scattered visions of his past... great and terrible battle being waged in a strange land with a purple sky... holding his beloved in his arms, only to watch her die and decay in front of him, until she emerges as a ghostly specter... forever damned to haunt the halls of this very Mortuary... then... The Nameless One gets a sensation of falling, and when he stops falling he realizes that he is being buried alive... and then he was here in the Mortuary, being pushed along on a slab by a zombie-worker.
The Nameless One wakes up into an oddly soft room. He feels his way around, trying to remember who he is, where he is, and fails to do so. Then he sees a floating skull approach him.
"Hey chief," so spake the skull, "What's eating you?"
"Who are you?" the Nameless One asks.
"Name's Morte."
"What are you?"
"I'm a mimir... a talking encyclopedia."
"Hmmm..."
Morte circles around the Nameless One and finds the writing on his back.
"Hey chief, you've got a journal on your back."
"What does it say?"
Morte clears his... throat (?) and reads, "I have kept a journal that should tell you all you need to know about yourself. It is also vitally important that you seek out Pharod the Collector if he isn't in the dead-book already. Ask him about a 'bronze sphere'."
"Morte, did I..."
"No chief, you don't have the journal with you. I expect one of the Dusties have it."
"Dusties?"
"Dustmen, chief... they tend to the dead in this city."
"City? Where am I?"
"You're in the Dustmen's Mortuary in Sigil, chief."
"Sigil?"
Morte sighs, then explains, "This city you're in, is Sigil. Take the foulest, most twisted city you can think of... add the constant smell of death and plague, sprinkle it with shit, and you get Sigil. Sigil, this city, sits in the middle of the whole Multiverse... if the Multiverse can have a center... and its spinning on an infinitely long spire... though no one is quite clear on how it can be infinitely long..."
"Ok ok, I get the idea."
"Sure chief."
"Now to find a way out of this room."
The Nameless One looks around, tries the door, finds it locked and too strong for him to force his way out. He looks around at the cushioned cell, and tries to tear the cushions out. After several minutes of effort, he manages to create a large pile of flammable material piled in the center of the room. As The Nameless One reaches for a match he snuck in, he begins muttering a strange and incomprehensible incantation. After several moments of chanting, he lights the match and drops it on the pile of torn cushions. A few minutes later, the fire alarm goes off, and the built-in safety overrides take into effect, unlocking the door. The Nameless One opens the door and walks out into the halls of the Mortuary.
Sharrow grinned, "You believe, but still you fight it?" he shrugged, suddenly calm, "You know what they say at the couseling: 'You must embrace your feelings to understand them and solve your problems'. So why are you, so straight and right as you are, fighting the forces that brought you here and drive you to these actions?"
There was a glint in his eye now, "Or is it all in your head? Are you really driven by an unstoppable inteligence that you happen to be able to resist, or are you just a madman fighting his own trainwreck of a past?"
Victor looked at his fist a moment,then looked skward,then looks to me.He Smiles quietly to himself.Before whispering the word "Okay" To himself queitly,he punched The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair in the gut,then punched him in the nose.Before kicking his knees out for under his and kneeing him in the chest as he went down.He then proceeded to beat him savagely,laughing and screaming while doing so,saying that it was not his fault.
"It is the Writers fault,it's always the writers fault you see? I don't want to do this Mr Sharrow,I really-"
Victor Paused to punch The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair in the Face one more.
"Don't"
And with that,the Orderlies ran along and pulled Victor off of The Gentleman With The Thistledown Hair,and dragged him back to his room,before throwing him into his bed and turning off the light.
Triscut grabbed onto Kimiko's apparently robotic leg and whimpered "W-whats happening and why am i so scared". He then stands up prominently and tries to play the hero, standing in front of her in a protective stance.
All the other inmates were going crazy. A fight-date being arranged in the cafeteria? A barricaded workshop, occupied by a girl, a cyborg girl and a horny fox? A man being dragged off by the orderlies, sentenced to detention in his cell?
He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. Was he hallucinating again? Was he dreaming? Half of these people he'd never seen before, and half of them he couldn't even remember properly. Who was what? Which was which? It was all becoming a blur.
Finishing up his meal and wiping his mouth with a napkin, Edward seemed like he was totally unaffected by all the happenings around him. He had taken note of events and remembered important details about them, but they were seemingly none of his concern.
Rising from his chair and brushing a little dust from his suit, he picked up his book, spectacles, and the tray, before walking over and neatly putting it in the stack, saying a word or two to compliment the chef. After that he found it prudent to look around the asylum, for knowing ones surroundings was fundamental knowledge, and curiosity did not enter into it.
Walking off into one of the corridors leading away from the cafeteria, his shoes echoed against the floor as he walked at a leisurely pace, for logically he was in no hurry.
Of course, nothing but a little blood. I'll admit I'm not used to fighting women. I can't imagin it being very different."
Tom shock her hand.
"Shall we ask permission or just try and find a quiet place and keep things to ourselves?"
"I assure you the differences are minimal at best once you get past looks and get down to the physicality...and find that gender doesn't lessen the impact of a practiced punch or other move."
Ziva said as she smiled and withdrew her hand.
"I say we seek permission as part of me I wouldn't mind providing some 'entertainment' to the occupants of this dreary hole but high tech hole....but still I am itching for a fight so if they say no, lets go against them find a quite space to lord it out." what are you thinking Ziva any undo action will make it more likely that the doctors will keep you in this place while that bastard serial killer runs free.
Sharrow fell back, taken by surprise, and was unable to retaliate to the manic attacks. Instead, he defended himself instinctually, deflecting what he could and turning away from what he could not defend.
As the orderlies dragged Victor away, Sharrow got to his feet, staring intently at his assailant. He followed them discretely, finding Victors cell and memorising it's location.
"Who is he? Why is he here?" he muttered, "How did he find me here?"
"Obviously, he was sent by Them" said the Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair, "They still don't know we're here, else they'd have sent something far more dangerous, but he was searching for us."
"So we're still safe here?" Sharrow asked
"For now, but he must be silenced before he can report to Them" said the Gentleman, sagely
"What can we do? He surprised us once, and he'll be expecting a counter-attack"
"Oh, that's easy; we find some other facet to attack him with. He can't guard against everything and everyone." the Gentleman smiled,
Sharrow nodded happily, "Of course, how wise"
The Gentleman nodded too, then added, "Of course, take something from him when we're done. Perhaps his teeth? We lost the last necklace more than four hundred years ago..."
The Nameless One walks through the bronze-and-stone halls of the Mortuary, using the tracks in the floor (which the Dustmen use to move stone-slabs with corpses on them around) to work out and memorize the layout of the floor he is currently on. Then he bumps into a strange woman who seems so out of place with her olive-colored skin that the Nameless One concludes she must be from another Plane of existence... though he can't quite place which one.
"Greetings," the Nameless One introduces himself to the strange woman, "What is your name? Do you know what part of Sigil we are in? Where is everyone? Are you a mourner or a Dustman? I wonder... where are you from?"
"well said Tom...lets just go at it in private....besides asking if we may or getting caught in the middle of our fight will likely result in our respectives stays her being lengthened" Ziva responded as her face fell at the latter thought
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.
