( MINGLE - WEEK 3 )

[abhoth]

SURVIVORS: 36 The sun is shining, the air conditioner units hum as they always do, and a gentle morning breeze blows against the windows. The scent of pine cones and evergreen follow you wherever you go in the motel, save for the parking lot and outdoor pool. It seems like someone was very generous with the detergent while moping the floors. The two grandfather clocks (one on each floor) will ring with each passing hour, indicating the time of day without fail. With this knowledge — they'll note the motel will continue to be surrounded by fog until 8:00 AM on the dot. It is at that hour that the fog will begin to recede. Not enough to reveal the whole city, but enough to allow residents to explore some of the buildings surrounding the motel. And speaking of the motel, it doesn't seem like there's anything out of the ordinary on this lovely Monday morning. How quaint. As a reminder, we are now accepting murder proposals for Week 3! If you're interested in having your character commit a murder this week, be sure to send in your proposal before Tuesday, 9:00 PM EST. Without any murders we can't have a murdergame, so go forth and let the bodies hit the floor! As always, feel free to PM us or send us a PP over plurk if you have any questions! ( quick navigation ) ic rulebook | locations | statuses | room assignments private conversations | ic profiles | graveyard | full navigation

Comments

[splinten]

Nothing.

[It's quiet and tired and certainly not true. What's on his mind is this: Dave is dead, and it is his fault. Dave is dead because Dirk made the wrong moves. Dirk failed. Dirk failed Dave again.

He barely registers what is different about Percival. It's there, he notes it, he's too observant not to and all the rest. But he can't seem to focus enough to think about it. The other thoughts are too heavy. They're like the press of the ocean, above and around you. There's no room for anything else.]

It's cool you can get this jukebox to play anything.

[Like the same song, forever.]

[lohengrins]

[ it's like looking into a mirror. he fights the urge to frown, not out of displeasure but empathy, rather. ]

Is this song important to you?

[ his eyes say 'it must be, right?' ]

[splinten]

I never heard it before here. [Well, it isn't like it's much of a mystery. Dirk flicks through the jukebox: they get another song.] My brother mixes music.

[He doesn't bother to correct to the past tense. What does it matter? They all know Dave is dead and they all know Dirk was too fond of Dave. Too fond too pushy too aggressive too unworthy of him.

Too pathetic.

He flips back to the other tune.]

Whatever.

[lohengrins]

He's a talented man. [ he'll match tenses; after all, moving on is your choice — not anyone else's. ]

...It's not your fault, you know.

[ those words are the trigger to a gun, and he's aware — but they had to be said at some point. ]

[splinten]

[Dirk freezes. Absolutely still, no motion, no breath.

Eventually, he finds words. They come out slowly.]

Could you please leave me alone?

[lohengrins]

[ it's not an unexpected reaction, but it's still a difficult one nonetheless. he pulls out a napkin, silently etching a message across it in ink. it's motioned over to him before he gets up to take his leave. ]

I understand.

Don't resign yourself to isolation.

It can ruin you.

Room 111 if you need anything.

[splinten]

[Dirk takes the note and looks at it. He doesn't acknowledge Percival leaving but he doesn't crumple the note up either. He just holds it in his hands, and curls over the counter. Over Dave's sunglasses. He listens to a song Dave made and he doesn't believe the comfort that Percival tried to give him.]