Graveyard Motel

You’re standing in an empty field of dry grass, at the edge of a paved road, staring at the red haze that lights up the motel before you. The night is quiet, and aside from the sparse amount of stars in the dark, dark sky, the red word "motel" is the only light screaming at you. To your left and your right looks like darkness for miles. You wouldn't be able to tell if there were mountains in the distance or if it was plains, as far as the eye could see - because that's the thing.

The motel almost looks like it exists in a bubble - floating on an island of darkness. Whatever is beyond it, you don't know.

The air feels cool, and as you look into the empty lot and the eerie, abandoned motel you realize: You didn't wake up. You didn't see things change around you. You don't remember how you got here, what happened before, or how you made it here. You're not even sure you can remember what happened in the last few days.

Everything feels like a blur, and then it hits you. You don't even remember your name.



As you stumble out of the darkness and into the light, you realize you're not the only one doing so. Other shadows emerge, and you find out that they're real people.

But there's one shadow - one that keeps reappearing in the corner of your vision every now and then - that you can't shake. Every time you turn to look, there's nothing. It was just your eyes playing tricks on you. Your eyes are still adjusting. Even if you try to chase it, you won't find it.

There's nothing there.

What shadow are you talking about?




Rules Enspoilered:

Spoiler

Notice: For the character you insert into this, you will need to know how/why/when they die. You don’t have to insert them at the age that they die. They also can have whatever they normally have on them- their normal clothes and whatever else.

As for their memories: they remember minimal things about their life - not a lot of personal things. They remember how to talk and read(if they ever learned) and maybe significant things in the beginning of their life but key moments are missing. Their personality is still intact they just won’t actually remember those formative memories that make them who they are.

1. Please include a description of your character in your first post - put it into a spoiler using the code down below and put it at the top of your post. In your character description also include their full name (for me to know, but for them to forget!)

CodeSelect all

[spoiler]Write your description here![/spoiler]

2. Please only bring in one character!

3. I don't mind if your characters try to figure out what's going on - in fact, I want them to! But for this rp the plot will be directed by me, so if you have any major plot-altering ideas run it by me first. And also, you know - typical RP rules. Don't write for other people's characters, that whole deal.

4. Don't post so much that people's characters get left behind! Let's make sure everyone has time to catch up and interact! I want everyone to be included.

5. If your character has magic or special powers they cannot use them here. They will not know how or why, only that they can't.

6. I don't care if your character is from a different world or a fanfic or whatever - it just affects how they react to and interact with things so keep that in mind!

Spoiler

Kazimir Petrov doesn’t look very approachable. He has a look about him that makes people uneasy (and for good reason). Even from his gait/walk he gives off the vibes of a dangerous predator. He’s 6ft3, very strong and muscled, and his resting face is something akin to a smirk but more the unsettling lenny-face kind. It’s that, or a dead-tired expression. No real in-between.

He has two snakes tattooed, winding up his arms with their heads resting on his chest and their mouths open. His hair is short, brown and messy, and his eyes are a dark brown. He also has a Russian accent. Also he’s 32. Forgot to say that ajsjajdsjh

He’s wearing a tattered black leather jacket over a black tank-top and dark jeans and black walking shoes. Pic of him I drew here (just a diff outfit):

DCD91CE2-4CB8-4CC6-9AD0-1F5A280AB442.jpeg (621.32 KiB) Viewed 1006 times

He took in a deep breath. The air smelled clean. Free of smog. The red lights ahead of him made his heart race. He could feel his blood pounding, rushing with the temptation of adrenaline. Everything within him was screaming one thing: fight.

Fight who? Fight what? Those were questions he didn’t even ask as he turned around in the darkness, hearing the faint shuffle of dead, dry grass under his soles. He reached down to touch it, fingers grazing the lifeless blades with a sense of familiarity he couldn’t place. It reminded him of a distant memory, too distant to recall. He just knew something about it felt like... he’d felt that before.

But what was so important about grass anyways?

He started to drift towards the sign luring him up ahead. With practiced steps, he avoided making any noise. It came so naturally, he didn’t even question how he knew how to do that, and why.

He felt like a fish in the depths of the sea. Maybe, somewhere in the motel, there was something waiting for him. Luring him like prey to the slaughter.

He reached for his hip, hands feeling for a gun that he was surprised was there.

There were a lot of things he couldn’t seem to remember. And when he really tried, he couldn’t even remember the last time he ate or slept.

Without thinking, he slowly drew his gun and held it close to his chest as he slunk out of the darkness, stepping right under the motel light. He lowered his hands to his sides, concealing his gun in his jacket pocket.

Whatever was waiting to find him didn’t have to look. He was there, and he was ready for it.

Spoiler

I just had to join this.

Charlie Greene: A young man in his late teens to early twenties. His age isn't really that questionable, but I'm not really sure how old he'd be when he died. I just know that he's a little tall, definitely lanky, and has a runner vibe to him - you can just tell he's fast.

His light brown hair is very messy and unruly, and his brown eyes always seem to have a mischievous, lighthearted look to them. He's currently wearing a more faded version of t-shirt down below, gym shorts, and sneakers. He also has a yellow hoodie tied around his waist and a pair of lab goggles pushed up in his hair.

He also has some suspicious looking stains on his clothes. It's not blood, exactly, but it definitely belonged to some kind of chemical concoction.

The first thing that he noticed was the silence.

He didn't notice the motel, or the darkness surrounding it, or even the man that was standing a few feet away. Part of him knew he should have. But that same part of him knew that silence was never normal thing for him to hear in his head. Hearing just his own thoughts in there kind of spooked him out, even though he had no idea what kind of other thoughts he would have.

He glanced down at himself.

A t-shirt, shorts, sneakers and a hoodie. They were comfortable, but something about them felt off, too. Everything felt off. He felt like he was going to go crazy from both the silence and the difference between what was and should have been. At least he had a pair of goggles in his hair. He could take comfort in that, even though he didn't know why.

"Hello?" he called out - his voice hesitant. He caught a glimpse of the man a few feet away, but he wasn't the one that he was trying to talk to. God, he must have lost his marbles when he lost his memories. Why else would he be trying to get the not-voice - how did he know it wasn't really a voice? - in his head to start speaking again?

He should have been grateful for the sanity.

Focus, he thought. If the voice wasn't there to coach him through this, he'd have to do it himself. There was a guy standing in front of a motel. He was intimidating and exactly the kind of guy you were told to avoid as a kid, but he didn't have the luxury of not doing that. He could probably outrun him, anyways.

He wished he wasn't alone. He felt like he was supposed to be part of a team, even though he never had been. It was funny how certain he was of that. If he thought just hard enough, he could begin to make out their faces. But when he tried thinking of any identifying features, they vanished. He couldn't even remember what his best friend looked like.

...Either one of his best friends.

Wasn't that depressing?

He cleared his throat in the back of his mind, trying to add some control to all of the chaos. He wasn't going to get anywhere if he kept letting his mind run faster than the rest of his body.

Taking a deep breath, he strolled on up to the man standing in the light of the motel.

"Hi," he said with a wave.

Spoiler

Laney Doss is a short, reasonably-in-shape young woman around the age of 22. At first glance, her eyes appear to be the strongest thing about her, being a vibrant blue. She has dirty blonde hair with a rather heroic-looking horizontal scar on the left side of her chin. She often leans on her sense of humor in life. She may not be the most aggressive-looking, but when something strikes home, Laney's temper can erupt on a dime. She is very protective of the ones she loves, and tends to have a strong, stubborn will - both a gift and a fault.

She's wearing ordinary jeans, high tops, and a sci-fi t-shirt under a zip-up hoodie. A small miraculous medal hangs around her neck.

Finding herself on the ground, Laney Doss took in a sharp breath. Had she just fallen? No, but it felt like she might as well have hit the ground hard. Everything ached for some reason - but it wasn't an ordinary ache. After a moment she recognized that what ached most was her heart - but why? She felt hard cement under the palms of her hands, as if she had just caught herself from falling. But no, that wasn't right - Laney couldn't remember anything about falling. What could she remember? Staring blankly into the darkness, she didn't know the answer to that either.

Slowly, Laney sat back into a crouching position, then stood up to her full height (which wasn't much), and turned her head. A surprisingly glaring red glow was nearby in that direction, although because of such darkness she couldn't tell which direction that was. It appeared to be a motel - mostly because the word, "motel" was glaring at her from the sign. A chill ran down her spine as she glanced around, somehow sensing that there were others there with her. And even something else too - but darker. Her instinct told her to say a Hail Mary, and she started muttering under her breath. But what was she saying?

Then, she saw him - a burly figure underneath the harsh red glow of the motel sign. He didn't look that friendly - at all. And then someone else - this one more lanky, and dressed more like her.

Cautiously, as silently as she could, Laney stalked forward through the darkness toward the red light and the figures.

Spoiler

[Redacted]: A boy in his mid-to-late-teens with messy brown hair that fades to bright pink at the tips. He has a deeply tanned complexion and bright green eyes that would have him branded a witch in a particularly superstitious town. He wears a light pink shirt with vibrant purple stripes and green suspenders with plan brown trousers with one leg rolled up to reveal his purple-and-green striped socks.

He has a fiddle case strapped to his back and a round of five colorful knifes are strapped to his belt.

He awoke on the ground. It was dark here, and quiet. He stood up, his eyes flicking toward the shadows that played in the edges of his vision. There was nothing there, but something told him he hadn't been seeing things. The djin wants more. He blinked. That was an odd thought.

He dismissed it.

It was then that he noticed the others and joined the group with a smile. But first, he plucked his fiddle off the ground. He grinned as he approached the group with a skip in his step. Oh, this place, that odd building and the bits of magic all around, it was facinating.

"Hello," he chirped and gave a sweeping bow, looking back up at them through the bangs that flopped in his face, "Who might you lovely lads and lasses be?"

Spoiler

Jay Whitman is in his 30s. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. Dressed in jeans, dark boots and a red flannel shirt. When he's in a room, he commands it. While handsome, something about him that isn't quite right.

The man woke on the ground. It was dark and a little cold. The last he remembered, he'd been in the arms a blonde woman whose eyes were kind but sad, but the rest of the scene was fuzzy. His mother, he thought. Had it been a dream?

Where am I? he thought, standing up. Just then, he saw a light beckoning. The light of a motel. Seeing the sign made something inside of him stir. Something told him the motel was significant, even if he didn't quite know why.

Others were gathered. He approached them.

That's when he realized he didn't remember his name.

People flocked to him like little moths out of the darkness, coming to the only source of light. They looked lost, confused, and some of them a little scared, and it made his eyes light up and his mouth turned into a sickening grin.

Three kids, a devil, and a scarecrow. Except the devil was lurking in the shadows. His eyes kept darting to the side, where a figure was dancing. Asking him to pursue. But he wanted to play a different game. He wanted to let it come to him, or leap at the moment it showed itself.

Three of them - the guys - all said little greetings, but the girl trudging behind was silent. He looked at the boy with the fiddle.

Who was he?

It was a fair question, but he couldn't remember. It felt right to come up with something anyway.

"I'm Matvei," he said in a low voice, his Russian accent thick on the name. He didn't know the name's significance, or how he'd pulled it out of his rear, but he rolled with it.

"You all look a bit lost..." he said, gaze drifting over all of them before falling back on fiddle boy. "Where are your parents, little fiddler on the roof?"

The boy grinned, an easy, calm smile that served to steady his nerves with its familiarity. "Oh, I don't know, laddy," he said, straightening, "I don't think they know me much." It was a feeling, but saying it felt right. It lacked the mournful twinge he thought should have been there, or, rather, he felt should be there. It was like a lost tooth. He could feel the warm, soft place where the hard feeling should have been.

He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and flashed his signature grin - or, he was quite sure that grin was a signature of his - tilting his head so his bangs flopped once again into his eyes, "How abouts the rest of ya lovely lads and lass? Are ya quite as far from home as I seem to have wandered?"

It was a pretty place, if ya weren't scared of the shadowy bits in the edges of your vision. An odd place, but very clearly magical. Magic was gloriously brilliant. Such complicated stuff, it was. Always weaving and twisting the world like it was made of soft putty.

Still standing more in the darkness than the red light that was casting onto the pavement, Laney stopped her stalking, wondering if she should really take a step forward and fully show herself to these...people. They were all people, right? The more she caught a closer glimpse of the burly man in the leather jacket, the more uneasy she grew.

*As if being out in the dark is much better..* Thinking again of the darkness she had felt coming into her peripheral vision reminded her that her uneasiness probably came not from this burly, suspicious man, but from the whole picture of this place. What was this place?

*Only one way to find out,* she supposed. Before taking another step, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her red zip-up, and felt in her hand something cold. Quickly she pulled it out and somehow recognizing it as something she could use. A...knife? From her pocket - a pocketknife. Okay, sure. She slid her hand back into her pocket, still holding onto the mini weapon.

At this moment, the colorful boy was blabbering something. Raising an eyebrow, Laney watched him, wondering where in the world he had come from. And then there was the strange-sounding man, with an accent that she couldn't quite place. But she did know it, right?

She cleared her thoughts, and stepped a little more into the light. They could all see her mostly, anyway. Perhaps a group would be better against...whatever true darkness was out there. Unless it was all in her head.

Laney's attention turned to the leaner-looking boy with the unruly hair - the one who had waved, "hi" before. She stood awkwardly in the light, still silent.

More people had emerged from the darkness. He didn't recognize any of their faces. It wasn't like he remembered anything, anyways, but he was sure he would have felt something. Maybe he would have gotten a vision, too. He didn't question why getting a vision felt like a normal thing, but he was also convinced that he was supposed to be hearing something in his head. His sanity really wasn't doing so hot right now.

But, anyways. He had to keep his mind on the present, not on the weird lack of memories. There were people there, and he needed to approach each one carefully. Especially the big guy with the heavy Russian accent. He didn't want to jump to conclusions or follow stereotypes, but Matvei totally had a bodyguard/mob member vibe to him.

And then there was the boy with the fiddle and the knives, which sounded like a terrible start to a terrible joke. He was taking all of this way too well.

There was a woman that was around his age. Maybe they could have gone to class together; he had the feeling that he had gone to college before. Maybe it was the lab goggles.

Last, there was the other man. He hadn't given a name yet, but most of them hadn't. The man was just lurking and watching, and all he had done was speak a single word. But that word felt important when the man said it, and he was kind of creeped out by how charismatic this total stranger was.

...There was also that creepy shadow that kept appearing out of the corner of his eye, and disappearing every time he tried to get a closer look at it. He really didn't want to think about that right now. If he kept trying to catch a look at what had to be a trick of the light, he really was going to lose his mind.

And, oh. He needed a name. The guy with the knives had asked for it, but he obviously had a little bit of a problem right now. He couldn't even remember where the weird stains on his clothes came from. How was he supposed to remember his name?

But just as the thought crossed his mind, a name crossed his lips.

"I'm Wally," he offered. Huh. That name felt both right and wrong. That was...weird. "And I, uh, admit I don't really know where home even is. I just woke up here, and my memory's shot."

He paused.

Maybe that was too much information to give right now, but what other choice did he have? He felt like he had to take charge right now, even though he wasn't really sure why.

"...Wally might not be my name," he added. "I don't remember that, either. It just feels...right. Like it should be my name, even though it probably isn't."

He glanced at the faces of the others present.

He was thinking of a desert right now. Hot sands, forgotten faces, and embarrassment that was both his and wasn't. Weird. Maybe this wasn't his first time getting his mind wiped? Whatever the case was, he was starting to wonder if he was the only one here without a memory.

He'd just have to wait and see what everyone else said.

The man paused, observing each and every one of them. The lone girl was beautiful, and seemed much too out of place in a dark and cold environment like this.

She was beside a younger man who was unremarkable in every way. There was one who was taller than him and made him want to step back. Another dressed like a Victorian dandy. A small boy.

The man's eyes turned to the motel, and in his mind he imagined a woman. Curled dark hair. Big, beautiful hazel eyes. She smelled like roses. This woman
was important to him. It was a memory rather than invention. And she had something to do with the motel, he was sure of it.

Still, he thought he saw something. A shadow? No, it couldn't be. One minute there than the next it was gone.

"Call me Elijah," he found himself saying specifically to the girl that was there. That wasn't right, he was sure of it, but it had to do for now.

"Wally." Laney held onto first word she had spoken aloud since arriving here - wherever here was. She looked inquisitively at the boy, who seemed to be around her age perhaps.

"Nice to meet you, Wally." Laney gave a curt nod with a polite smile, despite the mysterious and grim circumstances. He didn't look much like a Wally to her, although then again maybe he did. She supposed if Wally was the name he had come to, then Wally he should be.

A name.

Still looking at Wally, Laney supposed she should introduce herself to the others here. That's when another man - this one tall, darker, and a bit older - spoke up. It seemed he was speaking directly to her. Laney turned to face him as he spoke.

"Elijah." She repeated his name too, and doing so triggered a familiarity somewhere in her mind. She had heard that name before - she was sure of it. It meant something. Laney decided she would think on that inkling. For now...

"I'm L--," she paused, meeting his bright eyes for a brief second. Her name. It occurred to her that should could not recall it, which was incredibly frustrating. Surely, it began with an L...or did it? A C? She reddened, hoping she was not the only one having trouble with perhaps the simplest question on earth.

Laney cleared her throat. "I'm Louisa," she decided matter-of-factly, giving a curt nod this time to the man who called himself Elijah.

*Louisa? Eh, alright.*

The moment names were introduced, Kazimir had forgotten them. The only one that stuck was Louise, and there was no reason for that besides that she was the only girl among them, so that made her stand out more.

The others were arranged into nicknames: there was goggle child, and fiddle kid, then there was the normal, nice sort of guy who was looking at the girl, and only at the girl. He stared at the man, for a moment, fingers stroking his gun in his pocket, unseen. Something in him felt a thirst for blood. An aching for action. It was like an itch under his skin.

It had to be the lighting. It kept screaming at him that something was coming. Lighting could affect a whole mood, right? Something psychological. Maybe he read that somewhere.

"Well," he said, glancing over at the motel behind them. "Good luck finding yourself, or whatever else you forget on your way here," he said with a smirk, walking under the motel sign. "Come along if you're scared. I'll keep you safe," he said, his voice taking an almost sinister tone as he let out a deep laugh from his chest.

He didn't look back to see if anyone was following him as he went up to the first door, but he did listen for footsteps as he inspected. The window was dark inside. Either the people inside were asleep, or the place really was as much of a ghost-town as it appeared. When he tested the knob on the door, it turned with ease.

Funny, even if no one was there, these things were usually locked. A part of him warned him not to go in, but that voice in his head was drowned by a million others.

Instead of opening the door, he backed away and shook his head like it had been locked and gave the door a powerful kick, thrusting the door open, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

Elijah had introduced himself specifically to Louisa, and that definitely didn't set off any warning bells in Wally's head. It wasn't like their age difference was...enormous, and Louisa wasn't underage. But still. It felt wrong, and disgusting, and Wally had the weirdest feeling that he was supposed to stop things like that.

He blinked.

Matvei was already heading off to the nearest door. His tone was just as off-putting as Elijah was. Wally didn't really feel scared. He got the feeling he didn't normally get scared in situations like this. But still. If he focused too much on the shadow or the motel, he would start being all too aware of how this felt like the setting of a horror movie.

Wally followed him. He didn't have anywhere else to go. Weirdly enough, he couldn't even hear the sound of his own feet hitting the ground. How did he know how to walk silently like that? Why did he know how to walk silently?

Oh, and Matvei had just broken down the door. He had been close enough when he first tried opening to see it was unlocked - Matvei just had a flare for dramatics.

His mind started traveling as he slipped inside. He felt like it did that a lot. There was supposed to be someone other than the voice that kept him in check most of the time. A face - with dimples its owner always argued weren't dimples - sprung to the forefront of his mind. But like with everything else, he couldn't remember the name. All he could remember was a sense of sadness, like it had been awhile since he had seen its owner.

He shook the thought out of his head. He could grieve later when he remembered who he was supposed to be grieving. Right now, he had to focus on figuring out where the heck he was right now. No one else had mentioned losing memories, but Wally couldn't shake the feeling that they were all in the same situation. Not a single person offered an explanation for why he didn't have his memories, and not a single person had even said where they were.

...Not that he asked.

Wally slipped past Matvei with ease. He didn't get a good look at the motel room before he did - he immediately turned his back to it when he stepped inside.

"Hey," he said, looking up at Matvei with a slight tilt of his head. "Where are we, exactly? I know we're at a motel, but where is the motel? Like what state are we in? Are we even in the US?"

He felt like patting himself on the back for that one. Matvei might have an answer for him, but he was more likely to lie about it. And once he lied about it - or gave an answer - Wally could chat about it with everyone else. He'd watch their reactions when he offhandedly mentioned where they were, and then he'd be sure of what he was already suspecting.

"Do I look like a goddamned map to you?" he said, looking down at the goggle kid with a tired expression. "Go look it up on your phone or whatever kids do nowadays."