After School Detention (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
detentionroom) wrote2025-07-15 01:32 pm
detentionroom) wrote2025-07-15 01:32 pm
[KIN'UN]
[You needed an escape.
For a moment– however brief, or however not– you longed to get away. Perhaps you envisioned a vacation upon sunny, beachy shores, palm trees at your back and seagulls floating in the air. Perhaps you envisioned nothing at all, and merely accepted that anywhere but here would do. Either way. . .?
You blink. . . and you wake up slouched on a school desk, arms folded with head resting between. You lift your gaze and realize that you've woken up in the middle of a classroom, seated in one of the. . . uh, very few functional desks that remain. The others have been broken into pieces, with legs and splinters of wood scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks decorate the walls, having gouged the sheetrock with jagged, violent gashes. The window curtains are closed, but they too have been torn and ripped to shreds, with holes showing a dark and unidentifiable landscape beyond the four walls which trap you.
And written on the blackboard, in large, white letters that seem to glow in the midst of the dim room lighting, is a warning]
DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.
[. . . you are not alone]
[Each and every new arrival awakens dressed in a high school-issued track uniform. The design is up to the players, but each uniform is already color-coded to match the group at large. Somewhere on your body is a new marking: a mysterious floral design shaded the same color as your track uniform. It is glowing very gently. And in your pocket you feel. . . something warm. Further investigation reveals a tiny little omamri, tucked away in your outfit, for safe keeping. Huh! What a nice gift!]
[For now, the front door to the classroom is locked. No matter how hard you try– with physical prowess or otherwise– the door cannot be opened.]
[But hey! You can poke around the area, if you'd like! Maybe get to know your new classmates. . . ? Try not to panic. For now, everything is. . . calm]
For a moment– however brief, or however not– you longed to get away. Perhaps you envisioned a vacation upon sunny, beachy shores, palm trees at your back and seagulls floating in the air. Perhaps you envisioned nothing at all, and merely accepted that anywhere but here would do. Either way. . .?
You blink. . . and you wake up slouched on a school desk, arms folded with head resting between. You lift your gaze and realize that you've woken up in the middle of a classroom, seated in one of the. . . uh, very few functional desks that remain. The others have been broken into pieces, with legs and splinters of wood scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks decorate the walls, having gouged the sheetrock with jagged, violent gashes. The window curtains are closed, but they too have been torn and ripped to shreds, with holes showing a dark and unidentifiable landscape beyond the four walls which trap you.
And written on the blackboard, in large, white letters that seem to glow in the midst of the dim room lighting, is a warning]
DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.
[. . . you are not alone]
[Each and every new arrival awakens dressed in a high school-issued track uniform. The design is up to the players, but each uniform is already color-coded to match the group at large. Somewhere on your body is a new marking: a mysterious floral design shaded the same color as your track uniform. It is glowing very gently. And in your pocket you feel. . . something warm. Further investigation reveals a tiny little omamri, tucked away in your outfit, for safe keeping. Huh! What a nice gift!]
[For now, the front door to the classroom is locked. No matter how hard you try– with physical prowess or otherwise– the door cannot be opened.]
[But hey! You can poke around the area, if you'd like! Maybe get to know your new classmates. . . ? Try not to panic. For now, everything is. . . calm]
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There's no one stopping you from doing that, either. But why a number?
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[Smiles.]
Eleven Toymaker should be fine for now.
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[ #tiefling, sorry ]
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/2
raaaaaaaAAAAAHHHH ]
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Do you make toys, really really?
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And then the tiefling interrupts.]
Ha. You are too whimsical for her.
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Hah! That’d be nice if it was true!
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I’ve not spoken to either of you very long, but I think it is.
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Number one!!! Whoa, what a brave number, bravo!
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[ REMEMBERS THEIR CONVERSATION EARLIER!!! ]
Oh, uhh, no one's called me Number One in that way before so I think it's okay?