Nekane Adomaitis (
opheliaafterdeath) wrote in
daybreakacademy2019-09-17 12:11 am
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Entry tags:
- adelaide cooke: original,
- emizel: disgaea 4,
- hat kid: a hat in time,
- hieke: original,
- héctor rivera: coco,
- jailbreak: original,
- james moriarty: fate grand order,
- kohaku yuhara: original,
- kokoro belmont: otomedius,
- ky kiske: guilty gear,
- leonardo: rise of the tmnt,
- maverick taylor: no end,
- maya matlin: degrassi,
- nekane adomaitis: original,
- reira akaba: yu-gi-oh! arc v,
- sherlock holmes: fate grand order,
- snatcher: a hat in time,
- therion: octopath traveler,
- tobias: animorphs,
- tokidoki rikugou: amatsuki,
- v: dmc 5,
- vivi ornitier: ffix,
- zangetsu: bleach
We're Off To Never-Neverland
There are many Fey beings in the world, those who are pranksters, those who thought themselves kings and queens...and those who have a job. The Sandman is one such Fey. It is not one he complains about much! To be able to help people have a good night's sleep and be well rested and happy the next day makes him happy, and he is willing to work around the clock to make it happen.
He has, of course, heard of the coming Nightfall and by extension Daybreak Academy...although the school's mission is not the only reason why the Sandman is aware of everyone there.
The terrible sleeping habits, those who didn't need to sleep or just didn't sleep even if they needed it, the weird schedules...! It's all so terrible! He understands the stress of Nightfall must be getting to everyone (that has to be why everyone is forgoing sleep, right?) but going without it will end poorly. Nobody is happy with this.
He has to do something.
So very early on the morning of September 17th, those who are awake may spot a wizened old man with a staff wandering the school. But there will be not enough time to ask just what his deal is. The Sandman taps his staff against the floor and soon the air will be filled with sand that will quickly spread throughout the Academy and Soleil. Soon everyone will fall under the Sandman's spell and start feeling sleepy.
Come now...close your eyes. And enter the world of dreams.
-
Come 6 o'clock in the morning on September 18th, characters will be released from the spell and will wake. The Sandman has moved everyone around so they are not at risk of being injured - mostly by stuffing people into the dorm rooms and probably not the right ones either. Enjoy your new roommates!
Meanwhile those who check the network will find a message waiting for them.
UN: T. Sandman
I hope you are well rested! What good and fun it is to get a good night's sleep, isn't it?
(No need to thank him.)
[Information on this plot can be found here!]
He has, of course, heard of the coming Nightfall and by extension Daybreak Academy...although the school's mission is not the only reason why the Sandman is aware of everyone there.
The terrible sleeping habits, those who didn't need to sleep or just didn't sleep even if they needed it, the weird schedules...! It's all so terrible! He understands the stress of Nightfall must be getting to everyone (that has to be why everyone is forgoing sleep, right?) but going without it will end poorly. Nobody is happy with this.
He has to do something.
So very early on the morning of September 17th, those who are awake may spot a wizened old man with a staff wandering the school. But there will be not enough time to ask just what his deal is. The Sandman taps his staff against the floor and soon the air will be filled with sand that will quickly spread throughout the Academy and Soleil. Soon everyone will fall under the Sandman's spell and start feeling sleepy.
Come now...close your eyes. And enter the world of dreams.
-
Come 6 o'clock in the morning on September 18th, characters will be released from the spell and will wake. The Sandman has moved everyone around so they are not at risk of being injured - mostly by stuffing people into the dorm rooms and probably not the right ones either. Enjoy your new roommates!
Meanwhile those who check the network will find a message waiting for them.

I hope you are well rested! What good and fun it is to get a good night's sleep, isn't it?
(No need to thank him.)
[Information on this plot can be found here!]
no subject
The detective slowly opens the brown door]
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At the desk is what looks like writing materials...]
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I may have a suspicion...
[He lifts a pen, and places it to paper]
Let us see...
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...But then, slowly, things begin to change.
An air of discontent seems to come from the shadows, as the writing speeds up - and there's nothing you can do to stop yourself at this point.
There's a sudden sharp sting - and now, the letters being written are a bright red, even your energy begins to fade...]
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Blood...?
[He hisses, even in a dream he could feel this effect?]
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Before the shadows suddenly rush for the desk, some grabbing Sherlock with harsh, rough hands, the other grabbing the completed stack - A manuscript - and tearing it to pieces right in front of him, crushing the fragments under heel.
...What a horrifying feeling of loss.]
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[His reaction was reflexive, even if it was a dream, even if it was someone else's actions being channeled through him - this was wrong, the thought was visceral. The vampire trying to wrest out of the grip, snarling as the manuscript was torn and stomped on - managing to lunge forward with enough strength to tumble over the desk, crying out as one of the shadowy boots stomps and digs into his hand.
No...]
Is this... is this...?
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Quickly - despite any struggling - they usher him towards the door, despair and fear rising up even as feet dig into flesh and the voices roar in an angry chorus of sound, overwhelming and painful.
The door he came in through is flung open, and the Detective is bodily flung out of it towards the shifting street below.
As the brown door begins to shut, finally, a voice that makes sense comes through -]
We don't want you here, []. You'll never work in [] again, not after what you wrote.
[The slam that comes is so terribly, terribly finite.
And now, there's just the other two doors, as the brown one fades into the ever-shifting background.]
no subject
Soon he rolls on the street, grunting on impact as the door slams. The Detective groans, rising unsteadily to his feet as he slowly recovers, but still staring at where the door was, his eyes distant and contemplative]
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The black door gives a rough click, apparently having just now unlocked.
...Will you leave? Or will you choose another door?]
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Well, if it's locked then there is something valuable to him behind this.
[He pauses for a moment at the thought, before pushing on]
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falling right into the empty, black void. It's cold, so cold - but it's comforting, like air conditioning on a hot summer day. And even though you could feel - just a moment before - little by little, all senses are lost. Touch, taste, smell, sight, sound...They all fade away, but there's no fear. No fear, no pain - just the feeling of being wrapped up in a heavy darkness that calls for you to sleep.
This feeling...
Perhaps, Sherlock has felt it once before. Just once, as he lay broken on the banks of the falls, beyond the pain.
That gentle, quiet, call to let go completely.]
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His eyelids felt heavy, it was... tempting... to just... let it go, and simply...
simply... but something at the edge of his consciousness just could not go along with it]
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The scent of wildflowers is suddenly all around, and there is no longer any sensation of falling - Sherlock's senses returned, along with something else that was taken from him so very long ago.
The warm wholeness of humanity.
And if he looks, he'll find himself in a sunny, beautiful meadow - butterflies of all kinds flitting around, with a deep sense of peace and contentment and rest. A scene out of an idyllic dream, or a childhood memory of the time before one had to grow up and join the rest of society.
These fields...feel like a longed for home.]
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It took him minutes to recover from the shock of humanity, his hands wiping away the joyful tears before he force himself to sit up, to look, watching the butterflies flitting]
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Everything is at peace, here - it feels perfect.
But somehow, there's an odd scent - not blood or metal, but...
...poppies?
It seems to be coming from somewhere to the north...]
cw: drug mentions
He breathes, exhaling, in this dream - he could feel his heart beating - it's so - so mundane, and calming. Soon, once he gathers himself, recovering from the shock of peace, he starts heading north]
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there's a small clearing - just large enough for a single human. in a circle, lie Poppies - but so many other flowers besides. Meadow Saffron, Heath, Purple Verbena, meadowsweet, Gum rockrose, and oddly enough, Bay leaf. They turn in the breeze, surrounding...
Moriarty.
Lying on his side, sleeping - apparently in a deep, deep sleep, and for a moment, his face...changes, to a face long gone by -
Before it smooths back out to the face he has in daybreak, old and mustached.
There's a sense that going west from here will free you from the dream, but...
...Well. What happens now is up to you.]
no subject
Loss, mourning, regrets, longing... and bay - 'I can but in death'. The face - changes, for a moment one he was too familiar with - then it vanished like a bubble on a pin.
He should go, leave the man to this Elysium, but he lingers, sitting close - listening to his own heart, hearing the rustling of the flowers, taking in their scent. It's easy to just stay - then he opens his eyes, starting.
How long was he here? Did time even matter here? Reluctantly, he pulls himself up, and hesitantly, his hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the man's shoulder, gently nudging him]
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[At the touch - slowly, ever so slowly - Moriarty's eyes open, blue-gray irises looking over to the one who roused him.]
...Ho...lmes...? What...?
[He sounds confused - but he blinks, rubbing his eyes with one hand.]
...'ere are we...?
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[He sits up proper, breathing out as he lets the man gather his senses]
To sleep, to perchance to dream... this seems to be a dream of some sort.
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Sitting up, he gazes out at the flowers around - his face turning to confusion to something like annoyance, before shaking his head.]
A dream...of a meadow? A rather tame dream, then. And I was asleep, inside of a dream? Hmph, I can't be THAT tire-
[..Wait.
Something is wrong.]
....!
[Without pause, he suddenly reaches out and touches Sherlock's throat, right where one could feel the artery pulse in time with the heart - and then touches his own in return.
There's a flicker of something like hope rising up in his eyes before it's suddenly quelled.
...And then, he gives a dry laugh.]
...A dream, indeed. You've regained your humanity, Holmes - in here, at least.
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[He murmurs, the wheels of his mind seeming to visibly turn behind his gray eyes... gray? When he suddenly froze as fingers touched his throat, the pulse quickening from the start. He didn't need to hear the next words, the way Moriarty's eyes bright and seem to dim to tell him what he was looking for, and did not find]
It seems that way - I'm unsure whether to think it's a kindness, or a more subtle cruelty.
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[Knowing his mind? definitely both, and to both of them.]
...A field of flowers.
[He murmurs it, almost softly - before shaking his head again.]
I can't be - that tired.
[But that...is said uncertainly.]
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[He absentmindedly touched his fingers to his throat, feeling that pulse]
The field - I think might be what you think it is, I went through darkness before arriving here... human.