In media res

(Latin: "in the midst of things")

the practice of beginning an epic or other narrative by plunging into a crucial situation that is part of a related chain of events.

How to play:

Post a top-level comment with your character in action. You can RNG a scenario or make up your own.
Blank top-levels will be deleted, sorry! Try the next meme on the left.
It's okay to assume characters have already been introduced - even if by "introduced" you mean "plowed into while on the run from the zombie horde."
List your preferences, and respect other people's.
Tag around.

Roll-a-Scene:

Chase Scene: On the run from the cops, or maybe you are the cops. However it works, someone's trying to get away, and someone else doesn't want 'em to. Also good for zombies, dinosaurs, and disaster movies.
	
Gambling: Strangers of all stripes can run into each other at the roulette wheel or poker table, whether it's a classy casino in Monaco or an illegal dice game in a Gotham alleyway.
	
A Formal Affair: Maybe it's an elegant dinner or maybe it's an over-the-top post-Oscar bash, but you're at a party where no expense was spared. Obviously someone is going to start a scene. Maybe it's you.
	
In Flagrante: This isn't what you think! Or maybe it is. Either way, someone got caught in the act. (This doesn't have to be NSFW; there are lots of embarrassing things you can get caught doing with your pants on.)
	
Lost: I thought you printed the directions! Whether in an unfamiliar city or in the middle of nowhere, you are lost. Maybe the other character's lost with you, or maybe they can give you some guidance.
	
Fight Scene: Bars, battles, barbarians - the punches or bullets are flying, and you're in the middle of it. Will you escape with your roguish good looks intact? Will you escape at all?
	
Close Quarters: "Handcuffed together" is a classic. Or you can be stuck with each other in a jail cell, hospital room, airplane seat, or other tight spot. 
	
Mistaken Identity: There's been a mix-up! Whether by design (yours or someone else's), or by some wacky accident, you've been mistaken for someone else. How to clear this up?

Cliffhanger: Literally, someone's dangling in midair. Will the other party offer assistance or just point and laugh? Or are you both (heh heh) hanging out together?
	
Roll Your Own: Ice skating rink, pirates, picnic lunch raided by giant radioactive ants...? Look, I can't think of everything.

gently retooled from

hallahair

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

03

[ By her own accord, she wouldn't have come tonight. Marie-Claude understands and accepts, of course, that one can't live a life in the public eye without having to engage with a certain degree of publicity as a consequence, but it does so happen that she is only relevant to this party by proxy and her father only brought her along to remind her of her own irrelevance. How successful he's been.

Watching him as he greets guests in accordance with their gender, handshakes for the men, nods for the women, as if his acknowledgement is the highest aim of their existence, Marie-Claude eventually turns away, a sharp twist of her heel which throws her directly into the arms of whoever was coming up behind her. She steps back quickly, her champagne flute only smashing on the floor after half its contents have already spilled over the front of the unlucky newcomer's outfit.

She exclaims, voice pleasantly subdued even now: ]

My apologies.

Flint doesn't entirely know what's in the safety deposit box he's been hired to steal, and isn't so sure he wants to either. People willing to spend the kind of money he's being paid didn't get it by being nice. And banks didn't get to keep people's money without being hard to crack into. He'd managed to slip in during the day, laid low and emerged at night- but the calamitous crashing of tearing his way into the vault was sure to attract attention one way or the other. He can hear the sirens in the distance, but regular cops don't bother him. He has to be done before someone in tights shows up.

(( Partner in crime? Hero out to stop him? Rival crook? Some other thing? ))

For a man who has lived a hundred lifetimes, who saw the concerns of the otkazat’sya as mere inconveniences, there were few things that made the Darkling's heart beat as certainly as a fight, as certainly as summoning shadow and having it leap to his call like an old friend. And, well, when the target of his rage was Drüskelle, that only made things better.

He didn't bother with the Cut, not for a single witchhunter, separated from his pack. The Darkling summoned shadow and watched impassively as it poured into the Fjerdan's mouth, muffling his scream, and calmly reached down to pick up his fallen knife. "Cry to Djel all you like, witchhunter," he said, his hatred cold and flinty as obsidian. "There are no gods here in Ravka. Only Saints. And no Grisha Saint would hear your prayers." Without hesitation, he plunged the knife into the Fjerdan's heart, and the shadows swallowed the man's dying twitches, sopped up the dark of his heartsblood.

The Darkling watched, a fierce light in his eyes, until the hunter stilled. Then he turned away from the corpse, banishing the shadows with a flick of his wrist. His expression was cool once more, collected. "I apologize for the interruption."

no shit, there I was--

In media res

How to play:

Roll-a-Scene:

marie-claude barrault | ORIGINAL | OTA

Flint "Sandman" Marko ⏳ Marvel 616

The Darkling | Grishaverse/Shadow & Bone | ota