bakerstreet | roommates

roommates

THE ROOMMATES MEME

Perhaps you were best friends who decided to make rent cheaper by living together, a couple who took the plunge and moved in together, or you could just be some random people thrown together by circumstance and really needing a place to live.

Either way, you're sharing a flat (or maybe even a room) now! What's going to happen?

You know this drill:
- Post your character name, series and any preferences.
- Go to RNG (1-11) and tag around.
- Have fun!

PROMPTS:
( the dishes in the sink )
The classic. Your flatmate just can't do the damn dishes. Are you annoyed? Do you confront them? Hell, perhaps you're just as lazy.

( the house party )
A staple of college/university life (and beyond). Break out the drink, tell people to bring their own beer because it's time to get messy! ... Oh, wait, you didn't know people were infiltrating your flat tonight? My bad.

( the move in )
Someone's moving into your place! Quick, help them! Or stand and laugh while they struggle upstairs.

( the noisy one )
Is there anything worse than paper thin walls and a noisy flatmate? You can hear everything they're doing... even (or especially) the TMI.

( the friendly one )
Oh, lucky you, you've scored someone who wants to try and make things as good as possible for you both! Don't waste this now. It might just be the greatest thing you could have.

( the tmi one )
OH GOD why did you walk in during that? Nope, backing out now... unless you're into that. Why do they keep telling you things, as well? Gosh.

( the disaster )
There's not even words. These are the ones the internet warned you about. A little TMI or noise? That is nothing compared to the crazy you're stuck with right now.

( the tv night )
Movies, TV marathons, whatever you like. You and your flatmate are going to hunker down with some popcorn and have fun.

( the fight )
Aww, darn. Is it not working out? Finally having to confront a crazy, or tell your other half that this is going to hell in a handbasket? Good luck, man.

( the shopping )
Whether you're going for groceries or furniture (or fun!), you and your flatmate are hitting the shops and spending some cash.

( the other )
Thought of something not on here? Go for it! Mix and match your options or anything else!

MEME ORIGINALLY BY

attentionboys.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Zia's new roommate can be neatly described in one word: quiet. They don't have much in the way of belongings; a sword, some guns, a cloak with fluffy fur trim that's constantly wrapped around their shoulders. A small device that follows them around, beeping occasionally.

The Bastion fascinates them, though. They wander around, gazing on what remains. They seem to enjoy the wind, and the sunlight. And learning more about the world it left behind; they listen fiercely, absorbing knowledge.

And they like to listen when Zia plays, and sings. They seem fascinated by that, too. But they don't talk; they never do.

One day, they hold out a piece of paper to her, folded neatly. Unfolding it reveals a rough sketch of Zia herself, playing her beloved instrument; a scrawl of letters in a written language they've worked feverishly to understand.

'You play well.' Even in writing, they're a person of few words, it seems. ]

[ Quiet certainly isn't unusual to Zia; she's spent long enough with the Kid that it doesn't bother her anymore. Still, she found this new person unsettling in the beginning; never before had she met someone who had blue skin. And the weapons didn't help. But as they spent more time together, she began to relax around them. They'd never spoken before, but they seemed kind enough. It was nice to have another person around the Bastion, too.

Zia's idly playing her harpguitar when Drifter comes up to her. She stops her mindless strumming and takes the paper. When she unfolds it, her whole face lights up.]

Aw, thank you! This is so sweet! You're so kind.

[ It's rare when their weapons come out; though they seem to find a sense of security in holding them, and having them, they don't see any reason to use them in a place like this.

They seem happy to receive the words, and at the expression on her face. Though there seems to be a bit of sadness in their expression, at the mention of 'kindness'.

They've done a lot of things, they feel. Kindness doesn't always factor into it; not in the place they came from. Only in the towns, in secluded places, did people find some measure of peace.

Another piece of paper from under the cloak, another careful arrangement of words. They concentrate hard on the paper; it doesn't seem to be easy for them to write.

'Your music = peaceful. Your home = peaceful?' ]

[ Zia sighs. ] Compared to now it seems peaceful. I didn't like the Marshals, but at least we had an actual city. We have the Bastion now, but outside of it, it's so...

[ Zia shakes her head and forces a smile. ] That doesn't matter. I'm happy with what we have. [ Her smile becomes a little more genuine. ] I'm glad you like my music. Thank you.

[ The drifter nods in comprehension. They understand this; have seen it before. The longing for what was lost. Even they, a mere wanderer trying to survive, have things that they miss.

But it's hard to communicate that through words they struggle with. So instead they sit, and spread out the paper, and take hold of the pen again. They want to tell a story in the only way they know.

The lines are rough, but they have a flow to them; under the drifter's hand, they become pictures. A high mountain on which the snow drifts down. A vast temple, carved out of stone, beautiful in its smooth arches, filled with statues of birds. A room full of eggs, being tended and cared for.

They remember the hiding priest, and what they had been told. The pen bites into the paper, the lines becoming more jagged--

More birds - different, with robes and staffs. The temple burns; the eggs, smashed. The drifter's hand shakes momentarily - in anger? in sorrow? it's hard to tell. A bird draped in robes, adorned with finery, taller and more powerful than the rest; a ruler. A vast shadow at the mountain's peak, on the altar. Another pause; the lines smooth out again.

A cave, an altar, a hidden cliff-face. A priest with a traveler's clothing. Eggs nestle in the straw under a cover that keeps them warm. A hut from which children peek out.

They may not know what it is to lose a home. But they have seen it in the faces of the people they know. They nod at Zia again, in a sorrowful manner. They don't need to speak to communicate their condolences. ]

[ Rapt, Zia watches as they draw. Beautiful pictures bloom before her eyes, drawings she didn't imagine possible. Never before has she seen something so gorgeous, something so simple but so full of meaning. Her heart falls as they continue to draw, and lifts, slightly, at the ending. Bittersweet, yes, but the message of hope resonates deeply within Zia. She wipes a tear away. ]

Thank you, that was beautiful. It... it means a lot to me. I really like your drawings, how did you learn to draw like that?

[ They look surprised, then even a little embarrassed, at the praise. (By the way their shoulders hunch, compliments are rare. They're used to speaking with other travelers, in their own way, but only in passing.)

How? They know this word. 'Practice'. They look at Zia, pointing at the word, and then at her instrument. She's the same, isn't she? She must have practiced to become that good, as well.

Another focused scrawl of words. The pen scratches quietly on the paper.

'Your home. What was it like?' ]

[ Sighing, Zia looks wistfully to the horizon. ] Caelondia was... it was beautiful. The Hanging Gardens were amazing! Everything was so green and warm. You didn't have to watch your step like you do now, either. And when it was summer, it'd stay light so late, but you could still see the stars... [ Yes, Caelondia was pretty, wasn't it? Not that she appreciated it back then. ]

[ She screws her mouth to the side and idly plucks at her harpguitar's strings. ] I mean, it was pretty, but it was kinda scary, too. The Marshals didn't like Ura. My father was a Mancer so they didn't bother me a lot, but I saw them harass Ura on the street. And all the kids at school said I was a spy, and the way people looked at me sometimes...

[ Zia shakes her head. ] But, it's gone now. There's no point in dwelling on it anymore. What was your home like? [ Maybe they have a better experience than she did, something to lighten the mood. ]

[ She uses words they don't quite understand, but become clear with context. Most travelers have a kind of mutual understanding now, but it wasn't always as clear cut then.

It's funny how a calamity can bring people closer.

The pen scratches on the paper as they listen. In return for those memories, they offer small illustrations of places they've been; a forest of leaves and crystal. A temple surrounded by waterfalls and still lakes. A bright and peaceful town; the beauty of the harsh mountains.

But there is darkness in it, even so; a giant and rusting mechanical hand stretches up from the water. In the forest, a titan gapes lifelessly, its skull shattered by crystal. Another titan leans listlessly on the mountainside, covered in snow.

But that's not exactly what she asked. Home is the town. Birds and dogs and friendly shopkeepers. A mirror and a warm bed. They draw the small confines of home, carefully.

'It sounds beautiful. Your home.' Beautiful is another new word. ]

[ Zia is amazed at how much the drifter gets across with just pictures. The lines are clean and bold, flowing across the paper with a practiced ease. The drawings are simple, yet at the same time, so very complex. No wonder the drifter doesn't talk; there's no need when they can get their ideas across like this.

Zia longs visit to the places they draw, peaceful and quiet, full of life yet calm, until they grow darker. The rusty hand, the fallen titans—the beauty shown before dwindles away. Still, as they draw their own home, she feels a little better. It's nice to see not everything is broken. ]

...Thanks. Your home is beautiful, too. [ She pauses, then looks to the sky. ] ...You know, the Kid had a way to reset everything. Go back to before the Calamity happened. We didn't, but... would you have? Would you start over to try and save your home?

[ They've never been able to talk; nods and gestures and sign language get their meanings across in their own land. But with a tongue and a dialect they are able to understand but not 'speak', more is necessary to communicate.

Saving, resetting. The Calamity must have been what happened to this place, why there is a small island flying in the sky.

But- they shake their head. There was no home to rewind back to. They are a drifter, rootless as a seed on the wind, but more than that--

They draw the thing that had haunted their dreams, angular and menacing. The dog, guiding their footsteps, led them to a confrontation.

'The past was too much. Rewinding saves nothing.' ]

[ Zia shudders at the beast they draw. It's something otherworldly, a horrific beast from a universe not her own. Just a picture alone is enough to send chills throughout her and she focuses her attention on the dog instead. She's not entirely sure what it means, but it seems much nicer.

She nods at their written words. Sometimes she wonders if she pushed Kid in the right direction, if it really was better to move on instead of starting over. The Drifter is right; rewinding saves nothing. You can only move on.

Zia pauses a moment and holds her harpguitar out to them. ] Do you want to try playing my harpguitar? I can show you how.

[ What if the same mistakes were to happen again? And - the drifter keeps this thought to themselves, eyes on the page, but if their world was to be restored in such a way...

Zia had sounded sad, when she talked about her past. An Ura girl given strange looks and followed by whispers. Rewinding would only make her relive such things.

They look up in surprise, at that. They view the instrument with an almost reverential air, reaching out to grip it lightly. They look at Zia with curiosity; they don't need scribbled words to convey the meaning.

'Are you sure?' ]

[ Zia smiles and hands her harpguitar off to them. ] I've never taught anyone before, so I don't know how good I'll be, but... it'd be nice to share.

[ No one else seemed to show much interest in the harpguitar. Zulf sang, sometimes, but that was it, Kid was too busy, and Rucks didn't seem interested at all. They were all so focused on turning back. Zulf, to his old life and his old love; Rucks, to fix things; Kid... it was hard to tell. It was nice to have someone who agreed with her, who understood the past couldn't be changed. To be understood. ]

[ The drifter nods. They know what it's like to be lonely; even though they had a place to return to, they were always searching for something. They didn't really have somewhere to belong.

They hold the instrument carefully, handling it like it's made of spun glass. Something fragile and precious.

They'd seen someone playing something like this in town, once. But it's not quite the same. They hesitantly place their fingers on the strings, plucking delicately; surprised to produce soft sounds, and look at Zia for input.

(They seem surprised they can produce such softness at all.) ]

[ Zia's eyes light up like Pythmas at their playing. It's a soft, sweet sound, uncertain but beautiful. The drifter is the first person besides herself to play her harpguitar; a warmth blooms inside her. ]

You're doing a good job! Try playing other strings, see what sounds good.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

roommates

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Sorry for the late tag, got super busy.

no prob!

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