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graveyard...2
GRAVEYARD
Notice of an itinerary change—
Well, shucks! You died. This might be a familiar experience for you, maybe not. Either way, you're probably feeling distinctly less dead now, with any injuries you previously obtained now healed. Grogginess still clouds your mind, but in a way that's reminiscent of waking up rather than anything nefarious.
... Not too unlike when you first arrived here, actually. Namely, because you wake up in what looks to be an airport terminal. Again! It's not quite the same as the one you were in before, but you're not free of airports yet, it seems. To be specific, you're in the baggage claim area, in the most literal sense: lying in an open suitcase on the carousel, going round and around (or, if you were unlucky, you might've tumbled out of the suitcase as it slid down onto the conveyor belt). You might want to hop off at some point.
If you're worried about your belongings, you can find them either on your person or in another suitcase chugging along on the belt. Once you retrieve everything, there's a new area to explore. Plus, reunions to be had with those who died before you, or with the four Hosts you haven't seen since the first week. And should you be worried about the living side, there are various screens around the terminal, allowing you to still watch what's going on over there.
► GRAVEYARD RUNDOWN
- You are able to see the living (and their public network posts).
- Weekly effects are still active.
- Any personal items you didn't give away before your death are with you in the graveyard.
- You can still use your curse items on the living, with the usual caveats of avoiding OOC inconvenience (e.g. no effects that would last into Thursday night).
- The graveyard has its own set of NPCs (Maestro, Bora, Libeccio, Scirocco). You are no longer able to contact the living side's NPCs via audiences, but you can talk to the other four once again.
- If you get injured and would like to be healed (within reason), the graveyard NPCs can heal to varying degrees, so feel free to handwave tapping them until you got one who could help you.
- You may handwave the NPCs explaining the basics to you: you're alive again, but you're unable to regroup with the "living" side due to lacking a mode of transportation to the airport terminal where they are, and a barrier is blocking people from leaving the old-fashioned way. Trying to book a ride is a work in progress for the entire graveyard.
- As of Week 4, the memshare effect from Week 3 remains.
QUICKLINKS
no subject
Recipient: Jacopo
Message Content: [Image Attached]
Object(s) Mailed: a picture of an anime waifu named Giuseppe Garibaldi
Day: Wednesday
Recipient: Tama
Message Content: Today when I walked into my economics class I saw something I dread every time I close my eyes. Someone had brought their new gaming laptop to class. The Forklift he used to bring it was still running idle at the back. I started sweating as I sat down and gazed over at the 700lb beast that was his laptop. He had already reinforced his desk with steel support beams and was in the process of finding an outlet for a power cable thicker than Amy Schumer’s thigh. I start shaking. I keep telling myself I’m going to be alright and that there’s nothing to worry about. He somehow finds a fucking outlet. Tears are running down my cheeks as I send my last texts to my family saying I love them. The teacher starts the lecture, and the student turns his laptop on. The colored lights on his RGB Backlit keyboard flare to life like a nuclear flash, and a deep humming fills my ears and shakes my very soul. The entire city power grid goes dark. The classroom begins to shake as the massive fans begin to spin. In mere seconds my world has gone from vibrant life to a dark, earth-shattering void where my body is getting torn apart by the 150mph gale force winds and the 500-decibel groan of the cooling fans. As my body finally surrenders, I weep, as my school and my city go under. I hate gaming laptops.
Object(s) Mailed: caviar
Day: Wednesday
Recipient: Astolfo
Message Content: ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷhᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷeᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷlᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷpᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷᘛ⁐ᕐᐷ RATS RATS WE ARE THE RATS WE PRAY AT NIGHT WE STALK AT NIGHT WE ARE THE RATS
Object(s) Mailed: a single XXXXXXL steel-toed boot