humiliatious | Amphitheater Multiverse: The Wastelands

The Amphitheater is a mysterious place. It's in the space of a blink that you appear outside one of its many entrances. You're beckoned inside, taken to the center, where the showrunners assign you a role. Another blink, and you're no longer surrounded by rows of crowded seats. The crowd and cast have disappeared. Whatever role you were given, that is your life now, even if only for the duration of the performance. Be careful, though. It's easy to get lost in the role you were given. It's not uncommon for performers to forget who they are.

Performance: The Wastelands

It's a scenario which has fascinated since the very inception of story-telling: What happens after the world ends? It seems that's what's occurred here. Shops and houses are left empty of life, looted of supplies. Strange, mutant plants grow wrap around buildings and overtake forests, which infected animals slip out of to attack. Towns are less so towns, and more so guarded fortresses which only allow certain individuals in and out. Supplies are scarce, and trade has devolved into a bartering system. Camps of survivors are scattered throughout the countryside and abandoned villages, with some bigger groups splitting up into factions. Infighting is common, as well as altercations between groups. The world has become temperamental, anxious, everyone always prepared to attack. Those affected by the mutation find it even harder to survive every day, met with a whole host of biological and social obstacles. Everyone's goal is to survive. What role will you play?

Dramatis Personae

scavengers & survivalists

Scavengers and survivalists survive on their own as best as they can. They are loners who travel from settlement to settlement, trading supplies they've found before moving onto the next place. Some prefer to live off grid entirely, and only interact with others when passing in their travels. Others hide away in cities and towns, away from the eyes of the factions that govern them, stealing what they need. Generally, these types believe that others will slow them down, and are concerned more with their own survival than anything else, which makes them poor companions.

leaders

The world as all knew it may have ended, but so long as there are people still alive, they will need leaders. One might lead a small settlement with only a handful of people, merely interested in surviving. Instead, one might be the leader of a powerful faction in a major fortress city, with hundreds at your command. There are religious leaders, as well, which devotees follow faithfully in all that they do. Whatever the case may be, the leader is, at the end of the day, someone responsible for the wellbeing of the many others that depend on them.

traders

Traders are apocalypse-made merchants who survive by collecting and selling items between settlements. Some of these merchants travel, moving from settlement to settlement and providing goods for travelers on the road, and some reside in settlements, providing goods for the town. They may sell anything from rations to weapons to medical supplies, and generally tend to have good relationships with leaders, due to their many connections. They are good salespeople, exceptionally clever with words, and may convince you to leave with something you don't need, or give them something you do.

the affected

No one is quite sure what caused animals, plants, and people to all start changing - why some are affected, and others aren't - but some strange mutation took hold after the world came to an end, rendering some something between human and beast. They are not mindless, and they are not hungry, but they have been known to attack - transform into monsters which blindly lash out until their prey has been disposed of. This only happens when they are provoked, however...

hunters

Some believe that the affected must be disposed of, studied, or otherwise detained until an explanation for their condition can be found. There are a few leaders, both religious and otherwise, who claim to be researching a cure for the strange affliction. They hire hunters to find the affected and bring them to their headquarters. Other hunters have more personal reasons for wanting to seek out the affected and dispose of them.

devotees

In times of great crisis, such as these, people find themselves desperate for a guiding light to follow. Devotees pledge themselves to leaders, objects, gods, etc., and follow them dutifully no matter what they're asked to do. Some religious factions condemn the affected, while some celebrate and welcome them, and others still that want to research them; likewise, there are some factions that welcome anyone, some that only welcome allied factions, some that welcome no one. It all depends on what one has decided to devote themselves to - the point is, they're devoted.

OOC

Hello! Welcome to Amphitheater Multiverse, inspired by former game 7Dead's AU/amplitheater premise. Essentially, characters enter a magical amphitheater that is holding a performance (this time it is "The Wastelands," a post-apocalyptic story), and they are cast in roles. This transports them to the setting of the "play" - essentially one big collective AU you can TL and play in (your characters can either be aware they're in a play, completely lost in their roles, some combination thereof, etc.). You can play out multiple roles/enter & exit the amphitheater more than once.

Please follow basic DWRP etiquette, don't be a jerk, use CWs in subject lines/read them. Play anyone you want - canon characters, OCs, fandom OCs, AUs, CRAUs, etc., etc. This event is open for anyone to play. You do not need to know me or be on my plurk list or anything like that. If you have any questions, please direct them here, or hit me up on plurk at

pantheraliam (just note that I don't add people unless I know them). Have fun, be safe o v o;;

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[You.

[Hands. Voice. Blue. Any doubt dispelled with a “sis”; it’s the face on the walls. Of course the bombs led to her—of course it all winds back to her, leader of the pack (surely!), that hideous mocking beast—

[Caitlyn fires. Misses the throat entirely. If she’s lucky, it still draws scarlet; a monster closing in, a different target. And if not? Boom. Her own station in a treehouse, elevated and rotting, is hardly stable.

[She’s not thinking.]

[ She draws blood! But thanks to a convenient beast interception -- or treehouse failure, or Jinx's own reaction -- it's just a surface graze, red streaming down pale skin but not actually harming her windpipe. ]

[ She's a true little sibling in that regard. Talking big, starting to sniffle as soon as she gets bruised. The spray of crimson scares her, wiping the smile off her face but she doesn't let it freeze her up, leaning away from the bullet and using the same momentum to jump off her little hidden pad platform, throwing herself into safe distance with a half-failed sommersault, a trace of pink glow left behind her -- whether a mark of the afflicted, or of someone's failed experiment to create a counterforce to them. ]

[ The charge goes off, large and bright, though apparently not particularly destructive -- but blinding enough that she has the chance to crawl further away as colourful smoke fills the area. ]

That was rude! [ She calls from behind the cover of smoke and whatever remains of buildings are scattered nearby. She probably wouldn't say this if she knew who it was -- not that she feels bad, no, but perhaps she sympathizes a little -- but she's not sure, and so, just goes for whatever feels appropriately rude in return. ] Don't you have a mom to teach you some manners?

[Shit— Just the slightest motion, recoil or a flinch back from the affliction, maybe both; the wood gives way regardless. Planks collapse into a flash and technicolor smoke, perhaps tipping off little sparkshows in their wake. Caitlyn is left, gangly and undignified, hooked in a tangle of branches.

[Why does she even still wear this accursed cloak? She could be grateful that the detritus snagged fabric and not her person, thick patchwork wound around an arm to keep her suspended. The sight is not unlike that of a single-stringed marionette, but if a rifle was all but glued to the (free, at least) right hand.

[“Manners.” Kill her.

[The demon’s voice isn't far, either. Any hope of cover blown to bits, and the ground just a hair too far to risk dropping, Caitlyn seethes.

[The least she can do is glare, still defiant, and try her unlevel best to maneuver the gun back towards anything resembling stability.]

[ She presses a hand to the side of her neck. It stings and comes off red. She tries to shake it off, breaths coming shallow. ]

[ C̟͊ͅr̅͢y̢ͣba͠b̙̖y.̨͖̃ Îͪ͘t̿'̤̲s̄ͩͬ jusͤẗ́ͯͅ a l͊͜ͅi̎͢t͇̓t̶͌̽l͈e s̼͍c̢̬r̷̞a̓͐tc̢h̢̅!̟͌͛ ]

[ She needs to -- she has to find out who the hunter is. The explosion couldn't have gotten them, but she could tell approximately where the gunfire came from -- and she'd seen one of the old treehouses come tumbling down. She just needs to walk over there and check! Easy. Maybe. The hunter keeps quiet, and it's unnerving. They could be planning something. It's fine, she's still got a few tricks up her sleeve. ]

[ Yô̺u h̖a̧ͫv͌e n̊͋͜oͧ̐͛ s̈ͭ͜l̨͙e̶͢e͛ͦv̹e̸s̍.ͪ ]

Shut up!

[ She pushes herself up and stomps her way toward the gunner -- then suddenly pivots and paces back. Then turns around again. Finally, she clambers up a nearby tree to a platform to retrieve a gun, a cobbled together mix of flare gun and grenade launcher, and then she's finally approaching Caitlyn, the jaw-shaped barrel of the weapon trained on her, smoke still settling. ]

[ It's still a few meters away when she realizes. ]

You.

[“Shut up,” she says, as if she's not the one spitting into empty air. Heavy steps, pacing, clambering—mind games, they’ve got to be. Caitlyn’s breathing heavily enough without it; her arm hurts. It’s not helping.

[Distance be damned. The mouth of hell emerges from the smoke. Caitlyn reevaluates—up, down, any angle at all—then goes still. The rifle rests along her better arm, pointed straight out.

[Blue eyes to pink.]

You.

[Affected.]

[ The world crumbles and rearranges itself. Again. And again. She somehow manages to keep Jaws on target, making sure its maw is always between her head and the tip of Caitlyn's rifle, but she's not doing it on purpose. ]

[ She feels unsteady on her feet, shifting the weight of her weapon to one arm so she can drag the other hand down her face, pull at her own hair trying to hold onto the pieces she's shattering into. It's like she's ten again. It's-- ]

YOU. STOLE. MY. SISTER!!!

[ It's probably something more like "rescued", considering Vi was the last one in her family untouched by the affliction, and it may have been someone wearing a similar uniform rather than the hunter herself. But of course, Jinx doesn't see it that way. She remembers seeing Vi cry looking back at them as the guards took her inside the fortress city and shut the gates in front of the rest of them. Clearly, she didn't want to go. They took her. ]

[ There's tears in her eyes now, tears and perfectly genuine anger, and despair. The grief is real, settling into her bones as if it was righteous. As if Caitlyn was the monster. ]

Where is she?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER? GIVE HER BACK!!!

[It’s not the monster Caitlyn knows. It’s exactly her, and has always been her. A glow in the corner of a mirror, and a trail she could hardly grasp before the kingdom crumbled—a lead she clung to like a lifeline.

[And it was that damning blue, and not the soft callouses in her palm. And it was that blinding blue, the underline that first took Caitlyn away from her unafflicted fortress and into the… dark, and—towards the…

powder blue eyes full of tears because she couldn’t understand because she’d gone mad

[and the past can’t be changed and there’s no sense drowning in it. Wrongs are long overdue for correction. Jinx, Jinx is unstable. Jinx has no idea what’s going on. There’s a rawness to her screaming that Caitlyn refuses to hear. A child; an annoyance.

[But somewhere, between the tears and the murky sputters of history, the sneer on Caitlyn’s lip falters.]

I don’t have her. [Her wrist hurts. She shouldn’t say anything. She watches the girl, not the shark.]

It’s you she wants.

[If it’s a gambit for her life, it sounds awfully bitter.]

Amphitheater Multiverse: The Wastelands

!!!!!

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