bakerstreet | The In Media Res Meme, already in progress.

The In Media Res Meme, already in progress.

...-g other people.

Assume that a scene's been going on for a while and you're starting in the middle of the action. (If you don't know what in media res means, Webster defines it as, "In or into the middle of a narrative or plot.") If you need an idea of what might've happened/is happening/will be happening then...

You know. RNG. Numbers.

1. And that was when the small animal tried to jump on your character.
2. And that was when your character realized that what they just ingested tasted horrible.
3. And that was when your character was informed that recovery would take longer.
4. And that was when your character got shot at.
5. And that was when your character turned the corner and saw something or another.
6. And that was when your character ruined the story/joke/information they were trying to tell and just messed up on the delivery.
7. And that was when the plan backfired.

And have fun.

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[ 2,6, and 7 sound most interesting to me, but I'm willing to play any--or something that's not up here as well! Tag in to me and I'm happy to make a start. I will probably be slow to tag back though. ]

The brave and perky Rikku tried to fight off the oddly handsome slime-boy, but she was finding out that striking against an amorphous adversary isn't as easy as it seems.

"You're pretty feisty, aren't you?" He asked. "It's not often I run into a thief girl as daring as you, y'know?"

Rikku was also finding out he was rather sticky as well; since her boots were currently stuck in a thick mass of his gooey slime on the ground...slime capable of holding someone 10 times as strong as Rikku easily.

[ All options sound good, or I can open with something not on the list if you'd prefer. ]

Edited 2013-01-12 10:35 (UTC)

[ —and that was when the comms broke down.

there's something deeply irritating in retrospect about the captain's sudden retreat from the field; after all, it's left his underlings tromping through a swamp, through weeds and slick, squashy mud, to keep track of an impossibly Lovecraftian Strain. rationality's of no help whatsoever. the logic jumps readily to Fushimi's dour mind as soon as he considers the plan. the Strain's a creature of two parts: grotesque, warping body and a controlling remote mind from a distance. in the event that its mind—weakest in the separation—reappeared in its original vicinity, it would be most useful to have a King standing by in the most critical zone. sending only the strongest of Scepter 4 to pin down the damned, rampaging part of the beast and ward it away from civilisation also makes sense—the goal, after all, is containment, not dispatching.

none of this is remotely comforting when Fushimi is, in fact, stranded in a swamp with nowhere to conveniently sidle away to—having to hiss any remarks at his superior officer in hopes that, somewhere in all their wandering, she'd managed to catch a signal back to base again.

in the stillness, there's a sullen, sour tch. it's a sound Awashima Seri's probably used to. ]

. . . how many tentacles did he say it was?