Isara Gunther (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gavehimwings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mayfield_rpg2012-01-18 12:18 am
gavehimwings) wrote in mayfield_rpg2012-01-18 12:18 am
Entry tags:
Introduction - [Accidental Voice]/[Action for 845 Goldberg Street]
[Was this heaven?
It had to be heaven. All around her was warmth and softness and silence. The panicked voices of her friends and family had all faded away. If Welkin were still here, he wouldn't be quiet. He'd be telling her stories, talking about all the problems in the Edelweiss that needed fixing, going on and on about this fascinating new species of moth...
But it was quiet.
Or at least it was until a shrieking ring pierced the peace. Isara sat bolt upright with a gasp, and what she saw around her made her shriek. This wasn't the clinic. This wasn't her room. These weren't her clothes and nowhere in the base or any Gallian camp would look this...this pink!
Isara's new family will probably be alerted to her presence by a great deal of crashing, banging around, and shouting coming from the girl's room, until Isara finally comes tearing out of her room, looking about her in every direction, tense as a whipcord to attack despite the fact that she's dressed in a blue flannel nightgown with a panda bear on it She calls out in a voice that echoes in the little house.] What's going on? Where am I? Who are you and why have you captured me?!
[As she takes the corner into the living room, however, Isara collides with the table where a telephone happens to be sitting, knocking it off the receiver so that it bounces off the floor. At that point, all and sundry will be able to listen in on what, by now, is probably a very familiar scene of someone panicking, saying that what's going on can't be true, trying to wake themselves up, and the like. But the end table slows her down, at least. As Isara stumbles, wincing in pain, she's forced to slow down and take in her new surroundings.
Every detail is more horrifying than the last. That looks like her in some of those photos on the mantlepiece. Snatching one off for a closer look is enough to prove to Isara that it is her, or some kind of twisted twin. But that tall, lanky woman with the short red hair, or that boy who's always scowling or making faces...she doesn't know them! What the hell is she doing with them? She...she looks like she loves them! Like they're her family!
Glass shatters as Isara hurls a photo of her playing volleyball at the wall.] What the hell is going on here? Show yourselves! My name is Corporal Isara Gunther of the Gallian militia, serial number 66409, and I demand answers!
((ooc: And here she is! I bring you all Isara Gunther of Valkyria Chronicles. To the residents of 845, I do apologize for the mess. Isara here is just from the point of her death on Marberry Shore, and so is a bit confused and disoriented to start with, and family is a sadly hot button issue with her. Apologies as always for the TL;DR
And I am conscious! Tag at me!))
It had to be heaven. All around her was warmth and softness and silence. The panicked voices of her friends and family had all faded away. If Welkin were still here, he wouldn't be quiet. He'd be telling her stories, talking about all the problems in the Edelweiss that needed fixing, going on and on about this fascinating new species of moth...
But it was quiet.
Or at least it was until a shrieking ring pierced the peace. Isara sat bolt upright with a gasp, and what she saw around her made her shriek. This wasn't the clinic. This wasn't her room. These weren't her clothes and nowhere in the base or any Gallian camp would look this...this pink!
Isara's new family will probably be alerted to her presence by a great deal of crashing, banging around, and shouting coming from the girl's room, until Isara finally comes tearing out of her room, looking about her in every direction, tense as a whipcord to attack despite the fact that she's dressed in a blue flannel nightgown with a panda bear on it She calls out in a voice that echoes in the little house.] What's going on? Where am I? Who are you and why have you captured me?!
[As she takes the corner into the living room, however, Isara collides with the table where a telephone happens to be sitting, knocking it off the receiver so that it bounces off the floor. At that point, all and sundry will be able to listen in on what, by now, is probably a very familiar scene of someone panicking, saying that what's going on can't be true, trying to wake themselves up, and the like. But the end table slows her down, at least. As Isara stumbles, wincing in pain, she's forced to slow down and take in her new surroundings.
Every detail is more horrifying than the last. That looks like her in some of those photos on the mantlepiece. Snatching one off for a closer look is enough to prove to Isara that it is her, or some kind of twisted twin. But that tall, lanky woman with the short red hair, or that boy who's always scowling or making faces...she doesn't know them! What the hell is she doing with them? She...she looks like she loves them! Like they're her family!
Glass shatters as Isara hurls a photo of her playing volleyball at the wall.] What the hell is going on here? Show yourselves! My name is Corporal Isara Gunther of the Gallian militia, serial number 66409, and I demand answers!
((ooc: And here she is! I bring you all Isara Gunther of Valkyria Chronicles. To the residents of 845, I do apologize for the mess. Isara here is just from the point of her death on Marberry Shore, and so is a bit confused and disoriented to start with, and family is a sadly hot button issue with her. Apologies as always for the TL;DR
And I am conscious! Tag at me!))
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You've never seen a Darcsen before either?
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You're not gonna get it back yet anyway. You get things in the mail sometimes.
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[...well, no, she can't make egg sandwiches better than Ryoma can. This is good, and only reminds her how hungry she'd been for the last while.
With a touch of pride:] All Darcsens can.
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[ Who cares about those world-things. It's just confusing anyway. Whatever. ]
Doesn't that mean you're nothing speacial though? [ If all those Dark-things could do it. ]