[“I detect no ill will from the gods, it seems we've been blessed with success."]
Wha—?!
[“Any gift the gods give us is one we will happily take. I'm certain you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. For now, rest and know you will be taken care of.”]
Eh? G-Gift?!
[There's an offering of clothes and a retinue of placid-faced mages, a gentle breeze, and a postcard-worthy tribute to Stonehenge curling around the clearing. It's serenity defined, something to daydream about when pining for the mystic. Fukawa would happily concoct such a scene herself, though she probably wouldn't be getting dragged naked from a pond.
A kindly hand reaches out to her.]
Don't touch me! [Fukawa snaps away, rolling and curling and hissing, doing her best to maintain modesty while threatening to bite a finger.] What is this, s-some kind of freaky cult orgy? Are you looking for a virgin sacrifice? I b-bet you are, sicko! You t-took one look at me and said that hideous girl has to be a v-virgin, didn't you?
["Ah, no, I think you're misunderstanding—"]
You can't fool me! If it's not a sacrifice, then it's some kind of creepy sex magic! Isn't it?! [The mages are uncomfortable. Fukawa cuddles her knees close and throws an accusatory finger at them.] Well know this! You can d-do what you want with my body, but you'll n-never break my spirit!
[There is a weary sigh. "Ma'am, can you please just put some clothes on?"
Sometime later, Fukawa finds herself neither killed nor ravished (and somehow put out about both) left to explore in town on her own. She was tempted to sulk in the free lodgings they gave to her, spooked by the medieval trappings outside, but she's loathe to stay in this hellhole for another minute. Whether it's a dream, a simulation, or a complete freak Narnian circumstance, it doesn't matter. She needs to find the way out.
First, she's been disarmed. The taser and scissors are as AWOL as her clothes, and so she slinks amid the shops, scowling over any displays of tools or blades. There might be a pair of shears or two, but they're rather large, and she has no clue what would be a good substitute for her usual blades. No way to ask either, outside the obvious. That's not happening until she knows what she's dealing with.
When she hears about the farms she also agrees to work, though she immediately disappears into whatever passes for a tool shed. She's dead set on finding a weapon, legally or not.]
2) STORYTIME
[Once Fukawa realizes that cash is king and her feeble body is unfit for any decent pre-industrial labor, she's left to grasp at straws. Oh, sure, anyone would think that the SHSL Literary Prodigy, wunderkind behind over eighty best-selling novels, would leap at the chance to play storyteller. Sounds perfect, doesn't it?]
Th-the wind blew...c-c-cold over the m-mountain...
[If it were in writing, maybe.
Fukawa shivers, glancing up at the cow-eyed passel of tykes she's been abandoned with. They're all waiting on her. Sweat beads at her brow. Her eyes skate over the pages and her heart thuds harder. The prose is simple but her tongue is tied. It's this fucking stutter. It's bad enough on a regular day, but add the pressure of performing? Public humiliation?
Figures that someone whose only gift is words still has to mangle them once they're off the page.
She sees a stranger passing by and hunches up tighter, voice dimming. Don't cry. Don't cry, you useless sack of trash.]
...b-bringing the f-f-first taste of winter to th-the v-v-village.
[A tow-headed boy raises his hand. "Miss? Can you go faster please?"
She shrivels further and feels a tear break loose. What a bunch of ungrateful brats.]
3) FREE CITIES - BARRACKS
[Being cast out into an alternate reality and landing in the middle of Jock Central is proof that this is actually hell. Fukawa has no patience for meatheads. Military, gym, sports, nature-lovers. All of them, revolting. She despises their can-do candour, their easy affability, their repetitive, incessant exercising and all the greasy sweat. And people tell her she smells. Ha! Have they ever been to a locker room?
She slithers through the hall with a non-stop grumble, the words muted but the bile inescapable. There was no refuge here. She was surrounded. There wasn't one single upside to...
She slows.
Backtracks to that slight crack in the door.
Is that a public bath?
A man breaches the water, droplets cascading down a fine-chiseled back, the shoulder blades winging wide as he scoops his wet hair out of their face. The lights make a gleaming pillar of his body, a glistening Adonis captured in the nude.
Fukawa, whose pallor leans more corpse than fair, goes tomato red in two seconds flat.
She'll just, um. Linger here a second. Don't mind her.]
((NOTE: if you're canon familiar and want the better? other half, let me know in the subject/a DM/Whatever! Happy to do a wildcard or spring her into a thread at the right moment))
Toko Fukawa | Danganronpa | The Lovers | Solvunn/Free Cities
[“I detect no ill will from the gods, it seems we've been blessed with success."]
Wha—?!
[“Any gift the gods give us is one we will happily take. I'm certain you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. For now, rest and know you will be taken care of.”]
Eh? G-Gift?!
[There's an offering of clothes and a retinue of placid-faced mages, a gentle breeze, and a postcard-worthy tribute to Stonehenge curling around the clearing. It's serenity defined, something to daydream about when pining for the mystic. Fukawa would happily concoct such a scene herself, though she probably wouldn't be getting dragged naked from a pond.
A kindly hand reaches out to her.]
Don't touch me! [Fukawa snaps away, rolling and curling and hissing, doing her best to maintain modesty while threatening to bite a finger.] What is this, s-some kind of freaky cult orgy? Are you looking for a virgin sacrifice? I b-bet you are, sicko! You t-took one look at me and said that hideous girl has to be a v-virgin, didn't you?
["Ah, no, I think you're misunderstanding—"]
You can't fool me! If it's not a sacrifice, then it's some kind of creepy sex magic! Isn't it?! [The mages are uncomfortable. Fukawa cuddles her knees close and throws an accusatory finger at them.] Well know this! You can d-do what you want with my body, but you'll n-never break my spirit!
[There is a weary sigh. "Ma'am, can you please just put some clothes on?"
Sometime later, Fukawa finds herself neither killed nor ravished (and somehow put out about both) left to explore in town on her own. She was tempted to sulk in the free lodgings they gave to her, spooked by the medieval trappings outside, but she's loathe to stay in this hellhole for another minute. Whether it's a dream, a simulation, or a complete freak Narnian circumstance, it doesn't matter. She needs to find the way out.
First, she's been disarmed. The taser and scissors are as AWOL as her clothes, and so she slinks amid the shops, scowling over any displays of tools or blades. There might be a pair of shears or two, but they're rather large, and she has no clue what would be a good substitute for her usual blades. No way to ask either, outside the obvious. That's not happening until she knows what she's dealing with.
When she hears about the farms she also agrees to work, though she immediately disappears into whatever passes for a tool shed. She's dead set on finding a weapon, legally or not.]
2) STORYTIME
[Once Fukawa realizes that cash is king and her feeble body is unfit for any decent pre-industrial labor, she's left to grasp at straws. Oh, sure, anyone would think that the SHSL Literary Prodigy, wunderkind behind over eighty best-selling novels, would leap at the chance to play storyteller. Sounds perfect, doesn't it?]
Th-the wind blew...c-c-cold over the m-mountain...
[If it were in writing, maybe.
Fukawa shivers, glancing up at the cow-eyed passel of tykes she's been abandoned with. They're all waiting on her. Sweat beads at her brow. Her eyes skate over the pages and her heart thuds harder. The prose is simple but her tongue is tied. It's this fucking stutter. It's bad enough on a regular day, but add the pressure of performing? Public humiliation?
Figures that someone whose only gift is words still has to mangle them once they're off the page.
She sees a stranger passing by and hunches up tighter, voice dimming. Don't cry. Don't cry, you useless sack of trash.]
...b-bringing the f-f-first taste of winter to th-the v-v-village.
[A tow-headed boy raises his hand. "Miss? Can you go faster please?"
She shrivels further and feels a tear break loose. What a bunch of ungrateful brats.]
3) FREE CITIES - BARRACKS
[Being cast out into an alternate reality and landing in the middle of Jock Central is proof that this is actually hell. Fukawa has no patience for meatheads. Military, gym, sports, nature-lovers. All of them, revolting. She despises their can-do candour, their easy affability, their repetitive, incessant exercising and all the greasy sweat. And people tell her she smells. Ha! Have they ever been to a locker room?
She slithers through the hall with a non-stop grumble, the words muted but the bile inescapable. There was no refuge here. She was surrounded. There wasn't one single upside to...
She slows.
Backtracks to that slight crack in the door.
Is that a public bath?
A man breaches the water, droplets cascading down a fine-chiseled back, the shoulder blades winging wide as he scoops his wet hair out of their face. The lights make a gleaming pillar of his body, a glistening Adonis captured in the nude.
Fukawa, whose pallor leans more corpse than fair, goes tomato red in two seconds flat.
She'll just, um. Linger here a second. Don't mind her.]
((NOTE: if you're canon familiar and want the
better?other half, let me know in the subject/a DM/Whatever! Happy to do a wildcard or spring her into a thread at the right moment))