badbite | TRAUMAPROM

[One moment, you're chatting, eating, or trying to find a way out of this strange garden. The next? The whole world seems to spin around you, colors blazing and swirling, sound muffled—it feels like you're going to faint—

. . .

Seconds later, it's over.

And you're somewhere else entirely. It looks like you're trapped inside a dome of frosted glass; nobody can see in, you can't see out, and should you try to break it, the only thing your efforts will earn you is a bruise.

It's a small space, which you're sharing with one other person—perhaps they're very, very special to you, perhaps they're not. Either way, other than them, all you'll be able to find is a long, sharp knife, and a vial labelled with naught more than a skull and crossbones.]

[From the moment the partners find themselves in their rooms, they're aware of the following:

✰ The pair must decide which one of them will live, and which one of them will die. This decision must be joint. Refusing to choose mean that they will both die.

✰ Once that's been decided, they have the opportunity to make an offer of something else in an attempt to save themselves! Offers may be made individually or as a pair, but they will be judged as a pair.

✰ At the end of this experiment, offers will be judged. The top 50% will be accepted, and those people will be spared.

✰ Should you fail, the partner slated to die will have a few choices on how it happens. They could kill themselves, have their partner do it, or allow Vanessa to do the honors. Unless your character is the type to immediately suicide, please wait until part two for any killing.]

(pasted from the main post.)
Main post + setting description | Questions? | Rules: IC & OOC | Decisions

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I don't hate you.

. . . but. . . . you won't let me touch you, and you won't hold my hand, and you keep avoiding me. . . . and you keep talking about dying and not surviving. . . .

( the longer she speaks, the more watery her eyes get, and she sniffs. ) Did. . . Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry. . .

( there's a moment where he considers turning around and leaving it, like this. let her think what she wants, it's better for her. let her tell whatever the hell it was controlling this that killing him is fine, putting a bullet in him is fine, so she can walk out. don't let her know. let her have her peace of mind, for now. while she still can.

but he can't do that. there's a part of him that's still much too selfish to pull shit like that. a part of him that does give a damn. and so he moves forward, carefully--oh so carefully--rests a palm against the top of that all too familiar blond hair. )

I don't hate you. I couldn't hate you. It's you, who should hate me.