▬ ❝ this sorrowful life // multifandom, o&a

[bigwig.]

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hey. welcome to Rainy Grove.
yeah, not the most creative name, but that's the one it's earned. after all, it rains here just about every day, whether it's a soft drizzle or a torrential storm. and don't get your hopes up for a break, either; even when it's not raining, it's still overcast, and probably so foggy you can hardly see a foot in front of your face. the sun never shines here, and there are no seasons - at least, not as far as anyone here can tell. the only sign of human civilization is a cluster of cabins and a shed, which is also our only shelter at the moment.

look, you're new here, so i'll let you know upfront that there's one thing you absolutely have to do in this place: remember. remember who you are. remember where you come from. remember the things you did back home - bad or good, it doesn't matter - and remember people you knew, whether you loved or hated them. it may seem like a no-brainer, but trust me, if you don't work to hold onto your memories, this place will destroy them. you'll start to lose pieces of your memory - slowly at first, then faster and faster, and if you forget everything...then you just disappear. yeah, for real. you think I'd say something like that if it hadn't already happened to somebody here?

trust me, I'd like to get out of here as much as anybody, but it's not like there's a convenient portal we can just walk through. the woods are so disorienting that it's hard to scout them properly, plus the further you get from the cabins, the harder the wind and rain seem to come, like the weather itself is trying to push you back. the furthest any of us have ever gotten is about half a mile from the cabins in any direction; you go much further and you're not likely to come back.

yeah, it sucks. but you'll have to get used to it, at least somewhat.

[bigwig.]

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one // all fandoms are welcome. ocs are allowed, but I prefer it if they're fandom-based ones.
two // post all forms on the discussion thread!
three // writer's block is understandable, but try to write at least 4-5 lines per post if you can. basically, just avoid the really short one-or-two liners.
four // characters of all (canon/fanon/headacanon) genders and sexualities are allowed
five // no op characters, or at the very least make sure your characters don't overuse or abuse any powerful abilities; this makes any rp a lot less fun for other players.
six // there is no limit to how many characters you can have, just make sure you can keep up reasonable-length posts for all of them.

[bigwig.]

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The sun never shines in Rainy Grove - hence the name. It's always overcast, and the rain ranges from a faint sprinkling to fearsome thunderstorms. It stops raining every now and then, but remains damp, humid, and utterly overcast. A thick fog is also common, especially in the early morning hours. The fog is uniquely disorienting, and almost dulls one's mind as it surrounds them. Not surprising, as the longer you stay in this place, the foggier your memories start to get. If you don't have the willpower, you'll easily start forgetting important things, and start to lose your sense of identity. Apparently, if you get so lost you truly forget who you are, you'll just up and disappear. To where? Who knows. Maybe you'll just blink out of existence.

All anybody's ever seen of this realm is a mostly deciduous forest (though, as mentioned, nobody's gotten too far). Animals do live here, and usually come out much more when the rain pauses. The largest predator anyone's seen around is a fox or large owl, so it doesn't seem there are any particularly dangerous creatures about. Deer and rabbits are common, along with smaller animals such as squirrels and hedgehogs. Many of the animals seem strangely unafraid of humans, and sometimes even seem to be calmly observing the displaced residents of Rainy Grove. Other times, it almost seems like they might understand what you're saying...or is that just the fog talking?

Four cabins comprise the main base of operations for our displaced heroes. There's also an old shed nearby, which contains an assortment of tools which you might find useful, and a trail that leads over to an old well. The clearing around the well is where almost all the newcomers find themselves upon arrival. The cabins seem quite well-built, and provide most of the amenities you'll need, though they've become increasingly cramped as the population has started increasing. They're not likely a permanent solution, but there's not an abundance of other options at the moment.

[bigwig.]

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name // gender // age // fandom // user

Cabin #1:

i. Kenny // male // 48 // The Walking Dead (TTG) // coral.
ii. Clementine // female // 16 // The Walking Dead (TGG) //ronin.
iii. Hammie // female // 18 // Kyuranger // bark.
iv. --
v. --

Cabin #2:

i. Mark // male // 34 // The Walking Dead (TTG) // coral.
ii. Ann Takamaki // female // 16-17 // Persona // Blumenkranz
iii. Wilson Percival Higgsbury // male // early 30s // Don't Starve // higgsbury.
iv. --
v. --

Cabin #3:

i. Jericho // female // 18 // Seven Deadly Sins // Ploegy
ii. Citrine // male // several thousand // Steven Universe (oc) // realsheeps
iii. Quynn Solei // male // 28 // D&D (oc) // higgsbury.
iv. --
v. --

Cabin #4:

i. Foo Fighters (F.F.) // genderless (she/her) // unknown // Jojo's Bizarre Adventure // InfectedHau
ii. Arthur Morgan // male // 43 // Red Dead Redemption 2 // Arthur Morgan'
iii. Ferris Sagewind // male // 27 // D&D/Pokemon (oc) // classy n flashy
iv. --
v. --

[bigwig.]

this thread is:
ＯＰＥＮ !

post all forms on the discussion thread!

[bigwig.]

• ─ kenny

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48 // male // twd (ttg) // tagged; --
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Kenny dragged himself through the huddle of cabins with a rigid, unreadable expression, his eye glassy and his breathing strangely shallow. He wasn't always the best at confronting change - he'd admit that - but since arriving here only hours ago (through presumably unknowable means) he'd already been confronted with the possibility of all his memories and even his sense of self vanishing, and the shock had only just begun to set in. But, from where he was standing, losing some of his memories didn't seem too terrible a price to pay. There were many it might be...pleasant to lose. And, now that the few people left who he still cared about were far out of his reach, maybe it would be alright to forget about them too. But, at the same time, there was something with him, more instinct than intelligence, that wanted to resist solely for the sake of resisting. Maybe there was still a scrap of fighting spirit in him after all. Well, at the very least, he should get out of the rain. It was only raining lightly, and he was guarded well enough against it, but there was no use standing out here and staring blankly at the cloudy sky. Kenny glanced around at the stoic cabins, which were remarkably well-lit for standing alone in the wilderness, but none of them felt all too inviting. So, he gravitated naturally to the closest one, and slowly meandered up the stairs and onto the guarded porch. There were lights on inside, but he didn't know who might've already been settled in there, and though it seemed the residents of this place were at least somewhat used to the phenomenon of new people showing up out of nowhere, he still didn't feel too keen on intruding. After all, he didn't know whether or not all of them were as welcoming as the one who'd led him here. This still could've been a trap. For the moment, he'd stand on the corner of the porch and wait to be invited, or at least for the comfort of others who were just as confused as he was.

The view from there was plenty bleak; though the rain was mild, there was still a sort of misty film over everything, and in the distance the faint mist grew into a much denser fog that obscured the space between the trees. He could see the thin trail through the trees that led back the way he'd come, and there was still a figure or two meandering slowly towards the haven provided by the cluster of cabins. It was beyond eerie to watch, filling Kenny with a growing sense of unease - and unease made him restless. Unfortunately, there weren't many places to go, as he'd been told the surrounding forest was incredibly dangerous to venture into, and the clear space around the cabins wasn't particularly robust. There wasn't even much of note within said clearing; it was as though this place was determined not to give its hostages even the slightest clue about their surroundings. Kenny didn't deal well with crypticism.

➶ ─ mark

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34 // male // twd (ttg) // tagged; --
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He'd been told when he arrived that it was hard to remember in this place, but nothing could've prepared him for how nerve-wracking that actually was. Most memories were the kind of latent thing that you rarely needed to bring to the front of your mind, so if you just went about your life as usual then your theoretical risk of losing memories was very high; the only real way to keep things from getting lost was to force yourself to dwell on the past constantly, which didn't necessarily make for a peaceful life or easy sleep. Of course, that last bit wasn't helped by the fact that some nights the rain was so violent it sounded like hammering footsteps on the roof, and other nights the wind rolled in so hard everyone in the Grove would be shot awake by the sound of a nearby branch being split from its parent tree. This morning, however, the rain had quieted down to a relatively tolerable drizzle, and the wind was mostly still. All things considered, this was nice weather, though the fairness of the current conditions wasn't what had drawn him out of his cabin and onto the porch this particular morning - that, of course, was the tension of waiting to see the new arrivals. Usually, when the weather calmed this significantly in the morning, it was a sign that a handful of newcomers had indeed appeared during the night. Fortunately, Mark been spared the task of marching down to the well and checking for them this morning, and thus had also been spared the duty of rounding up said arrivals and giving them their mandatory briefing. Truthfully, Mark wasn't even sure he had the mental fortitude to carry that out; it couldn't be easy to tell a bunch of disoriented strangers that they were at risk of losing their identity and vanishing into nothingness, much less convince them all to follow you anywhere.

Mark could see a few of the new faces already; the others were either out of view or hadn't come all the way down the trail yet. Or they'd run off into the woods despite the warning and were bound to never return, but that was more than a little depressing to dwell on. He heard the sound of stirring among the bushes that hugged the second cabin, and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed a rabbit - which had no doubt sheltered beneath the house during the night - move cautiously out into the open. His hands instinctively itched for his rifle, but he didn't want to risk startling their new neighbors even further with the piercing sound of a gunshot. And by the time that thought had concluded it was too late, for the rabbit had darted off into the underbrush and was already out of sight. Well...not enough of a loss to worry about. Mark sighed softly and turned his attention back to the open path between the cabins; it was best to focus on welcoming the newcomers rather than fretting about losing dinner.

[Organ]

Arthur Morgan - RDR2 - Male - 43 - Tags: -

He walked down the trail towards the cabin confused. Along the way, he took out a pistol and refilled them with bullets, the almost quiet sound of bullets filling the empty slots. He put the pistol back in the holster and saw the blurry faces of the rest. He wasn't in a sociable mood, so he went inside his cabin and sat in a chair. He took out gun oil and cleaned his guns to make them more powerful. He fixed his hat and looked around the cabin. He was kinda curious on who was in the cabin with him, but, he waited humming songs. He opened his satchel and wrote a entry and drew some cabins. He was pretty good at drawing since that was the only fun thing to do in his gang while they were hiding, robbing, killing enemies, and traveling. The other fun thing to do was drink and sing, and maybe go to cities for some short time.

[InfectedHau]

Foo Fighters||JJBA||Female||Tagged: Arthur

F.F. was loving the rain. They didn't usually let prisoners out when it was raining, so it was rare that she got to enjoy it. She wasn't sure why they didn't like it, what wasn't to like about water in the air all around them? She wasn't sure how she'd gotten to this strange place, but it didn't look like she'd have to worry about dehydrating.

The Stand strolled happily down the trail, occasionally opening her mouth to catch a few raindrops. This was great. It was a shame that Jolyne and Ermes weren't here to share it with her, but she didn't mind that. She could just remember them if she got lonely. That was what she would have to do anyways, apparently, otherwise she'd disappear. In a way, she almost relished the challenge. It would be a good test of her intellect.

After a while, cabins loomed into view, and F.F. selected one at random, eager to settle in. She set her open cup on the porch as she entered, so that it would collect some rainwater while she was inside. No need to let it go to waste, after all. Upon entering the cabin, she found it surprisingly empty, its sole occupant being a man dressed like one of the cowboys from the movies they sometimes showed in the rec room. Kind of an odd choice of clothes, but maybe he was just trying to keep himself dry. "Hey," she said, sitting in a chair next to one of the beds. "Nice hat."

[realsheeps]

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xxxxxCitrinexxx male •° universe: steven U •° tagged: //
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xxxxxThe image of figures emerging from dense fog; sillhouettes darker than the surrounding gloom; different sizes: width, height; different gaits: some confident and curious, others nervous and flickering. The sight was ominous every time it appeared. Some of the figures were solitary, with a wide berth separating them from the others. Some were armed. Some seemed to fade in and out of vision as they wandered through the underbrush, navigating in the darkness. Some struggled, others' strides were easy and uninhibited.
xxxxxLong ago, Citrine had resolved in himself to expect things to be ever-changing. Externally, inhabitants of the Grove came and went; the social atmosphere tensed and relaxed; the weather oscillated from rain to fog and back again. Internally, Citrine himself felt as though change was something he couldn't get away from. This scared him, at times; it was intimidating to see himself now as a dynamic unit when he had been steadfast and unchangeable for so many years. He was a Gem; he had a job which encompassed his life and livelihood; he was a warrior. Then, he found himself here. Then, he found himself changed.
xxxxxCitrine's knees creaked when he stood up. They creaked now. His physical strength, back on Homeworld, was found in unbalanced proportion in his legs; the priority of his skill was there. There, he was nearly unbound by gravity. He was able to lift things many times his own weight. Here, instead, he was almost human. The weight loss alone unsettled him. He no longer looked like himself -- he looked delicate now: spiny and bony, no longer wrapped in protective muscle and strength. He looked and felt tired, so he supplemented with other things.
xxxxxThe edge of his cabin, outside, near a tiny hole he'd dug with his hands, which usually was full of rainwater, was where he spent a good portion of his time. Sometimes, small lifeforms appeared in his pond. He assumed them to be harmless, but he didn't have a name for them yet. Small, plainly-coloured, quick lifespans. They hopped. They made him happy. He filled himself with knowledge of these creatures, with knowledge of the others in the Grove, with explorations and investigations and non-dangerous hobbies. The boundaries of the small clearing of the Grove, before the treeline, as safe as safe could be in this foreign outcropping, was his home now. He allowed himself to question it, to question the rules, and the warnings, but he did not act on them. Such was the instinct of a quartz, though he burned quietly.

[Organ]

Arthur Morgan - RDR2 - Male - 43 - Tags: FooFighters

He glinced up from his drawing and made a confused face. "Uh, hi?" He looked at her in a strange way. Not that she was ugly, just, she didn't look human. He adjusted his hat and went back to writing. "Name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan." The shredded rope on the back of his hat swayed to every movement his head made. He looked at his gun to make sure it was still there just in case something happened, with anyone or anything. Of course, being a gunslinger, he'd have nothing to worry about. His new friend, for now, seemed happy and eager to explore. It would be good for him to talk with others, to learn more about them.