#thenarrator385

[kruel-kreator]

[@thenarrator385 BEGUN THE END]

Jesse stood there, staring at the screen for a second. Sure he should've known better than to press the on button but if you should really know the saying that "Curiosity Killed The Cat." It took the guy a moment before he put his hands together, head tilted downards.

His glasses slipped off his face and the second that they hit the ground was the second that the brown haired creator regained all senses, stepping on those glasses to break them, guess if he's dying he may not be needing to see anymore.

He looked over at Victor, brown eyes casting an empty gaze, before looking at the counter again, what are his options what are his options. Sure he could go to the room he has in beforehand but actually, he's pretty sure he has a better idea of what exactly he should do.

An empty grin appeared on Jesse's face as he stared directly at the screen, his head falling to the side as his eyes squinted, trying to make out the white numbers as the clock counted down. He closed them for a moment, that empty grin never leaving.

When he opened his eyes again he walked over to where he remembered having seen Victor sit down, the dark red suit being the only indication to where he was. He walked over and blinked, should he be doing this? Absolutely.

That spark returned, this time that shine in his eyes was in the form of an X, seems he's accepted that he's not exactly staying alive. Jesse quietly leans forward, arms folded behind his back. He leaned in just a bit closer, mouthing words along the lines of "Oh you have no idea what im about to do"

Before doing what? Well, he gave the narrator a kiss of course, thats why he had that grin on his face. He chuckled softly as he leaned back, his expression smug now

[faces-of-higher-powers]

It would only seem that eventually, Elliot would become lost labyrinth of his Narrator's offices. Through every new door that he entered, another office was left behind. The trail of his existence from that dreadful hell only seemed to fade away. He travelled through various different offices, all in which were generated by his Narrator. There were blue ones, offices filled with buttons, some that seemed to be completely abandoned, ones covered in Delta symbols, the possibilities never seemed to end.

He was tired of the dull offices, wanting nothing more than to break free from the grasps of his Narrator. Door after door, room after room. Everything he had experienced began to blur into one. The repetitive rooms, the repetitive sound of the doors closing behind him as he continued to navigate his way through the space.

While the spaces continued to shift and change around him, things also seemed to be changing to himself as well. His stomach grumbled- his body began to feel tired? His legs were beginning to burn as he continued his way through the rooms. His office often prevented him from feeling hunger, exhaustion and so on- so why was he feeling it now? Maybe he had succeeded and had finally broken free of his office and away from his Narrator.

He opened the door into what he assumed would be the same space yet again. To his surprise- it didn't feel like his office anymore, let alone a typical office. It felt warm, homely- like somewhere he felt he could actually be safe. There was a presence, something he hadn't felt before. A feeling of comfort stirred in his chest, as though maybe he would hear someone call out to him if he spoke up. Maybe he would finally encounter another person for the first time in... who ever knows how long it's been.

"Hello?" He quietly called out. His heart was pounding quietly in his chest as he stepped further into the room. The door closed behind him, leaving him alone in this foreign space.

[ @thenarrator385 ]

Elliot entered into a small study, lined with filled bookshelves. In the center of the wall in front of him was a lavish fireplace, which held cases of antique daggers and syringes upon it's mantle. A small fire crackled as it heated the room, dousing the area in it's bright blue glow. In the low light of the room, Elliot could make out frames containing carefully preserved insects and hand-drawn medical diagrams, all written in some unidentifiable language.

Before he had much time to explore the room, a door beside the fireplace slid open. A tall, slender woman slipped into the room, failing to notice Elliot until she removed the large goggles from her face. When she looked up again, she gazed at him with unblinking lavender eyes. A small, violet crystal around her neck softly glowed as she spoke.

"Oh. Oh, my...." She was sure to keep her voice quiet as she slowly approached him, speaking to him as one might speak to a lost cat. "Hello! Hi, there! Oh, are you lost, little moth? Poor little thing...."

She reached down to take his hand in her own, grazing freezing fingertips against his skin as she tugged him forward. "Come along now, sit here, get comfortable."

[neverendingparable]

[ Countdown to Explosion: 3 Minutes ] ► @thenarrator385

But the reactions Victor had been looking for - fear, anger, panic - never came. As the Narrator droned on about Bradley’s fate, all he managed to drag out of the former protagonist was a gleeful cackle. 

"Yeah!! I haven't done this in ages either, I forgot how pompous you fuckers get-" Bradley shouted into the empty facility. "Nothing says control like throwing a temper tantrum!" 

He had expected it to go as usual - he would walk (or run) around pushing buttons, letting the Narrator taunt and insult him as the timer ticked closer and closer to his doom. Then he would restart - usually with a horrible headache and shaky legs - and go on about his day. Nothing ever changed. He's played this too many times with too many Narrators and nothing ever changed. 

But here...

”Oh, this is so divine- I must come down and celebrate this myself.“ 

He...was coming down? Well, this changed everything. 

The sound of footsteps made him turn and there he was, the bastard. Red suit, champagne glass in hand and the dorkiest hair streak he's ever seen. He was cute too - had a face that suggested he didn't do a lot of evil smirking although Bradley would be lying if he said it didn't suit him. 

The Narrator went on with his dramatic villain monologue, oh I love to watch you struggle, please run around for my amusement, so on, so forth. 

Bradley was watching him like a hawk. He didn't budge when the countdown was announced. 

"You want me to run around like three minutes? Tsk, Narrator. A bit redundant, don't you think? Don't we all know how this ends? I get blown up because there's no solution here. The buttons don't do shit."

A smirk settled on Bradley's face as he eyed the seated Narrator in front of him.

"I've got a much, much better idea of what we can do."

He didn't give Victor a warning before he's seated himself directly in his lap, arms wrapped around the Narrator's neck for balance - and to keep him there should Victor try to push him off. 

Bradley's breath was hot against the other’s cheek as he whispered lowly, "Do you think you can last three minutes?"

[not-another-parable]

[ESTABLISHING CONNECTION TO EXTERNAL HOST...

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. HOST: @thenarrator385 ]

Stanley had been walking through the game’s main path for only about five minutes. Things were going well, he passed through each section with no problem- until his hand fell over the ‘on’ button. He blankly stared up at the blinding red screen, then swirled his head around to gaze at the ceiling as The Narrator chastised him once again. But... something was different this time. This wasn’t the usual lecture. When The Narrator fell silent, Stanley crouched down and attempted to read some of the pages left scattered across the power room’s floor. The second Victor stepped into the room, however, he shot straight up and gazed at him with wide eyes.

For a few seconds, Stanley was frozen, presumably in shock, at the man’s presence. Once it had passed, Stanley ran to the man’s side, inspecting him from every angle and taking in every detail of his form as he spoke. He was too stunned by The Narrator’s sudden appearance to even respond to the timer that had just started ticking down in front of him. Without warning, a new voice began to echo through the room- one neither of them could have possibly been familiar with.

“No way. Oh, no fucking way!” It ecstatically shouted. Their laughter sharply contrasted the dire situation Stanley found himself in. “Oh, my god, he’s actually real! Oh, my god- wait, can I poke him?” As the voice asked this, Stanley spontaneously reached out and pressed Victor’s arm the same way he’d pressed the button earlier.

“Oh, my god, I can! Holy shit, oh, this is so sick-- what do you mean you’re ‘unable to capture screenshot?!’ Oh, that’s so evil. They probably didn’t want people spoiling this.... Oh, shit, okay, okay, I’m done staring at ‘cute voice man,’ I gotta focus!”

With that, Stanley ran off back into the Facility’s central room. He quickly surveyed the round room,- “Wait. Wait, was that always...?”- then hurried down the stairs and towards the desk in front of the room’s entrance. A desk that was previously memorized as all but empty excluding a clipboard was now stacked with journals and textbooks. Stanley immediately began tearing through them, rapidly sifting through each page for anything that may be relevant.

[aftcrpast]

[@thenarrator385 is here to meet the new protagonist]

The dark haired employee looked caught off guard, it's a familiar appearance, a beige button up with a dark brown vest mixed with a lighter brown. Darker pants and small black boots.

Silver framed glasses adorned his eyes with that long dark blue-ish purple hair of his falling over his shoulders. There was a white streak along the front and back, it wasn't completely linear but it looked nice, one of those cold blue eyes covered by the hair.

The number on the tag on the vest? Simple, 221. He just quietly stared at the curator from his spot there. First he was taken out of his office into this weird place that didn't have any employees, then he finds himself in a place that wasn't even part of the building. God bless he is certainly confused

"Who are you?"

He asked, ignoring what was asked to him, keeping his eyes on the sword the other held alongside a defensive position, ready to run at any moment.

[employee-040]

@thenarrator385 - Event RP 1

--

Patrick freezes at Victor's words, the reality of the situation sinking into him like the weight that began to fill the bottom of his stomach. Of course. With a twitch of his head, he grimaces at the Narrator in his chair before quickly glancing behind him to the timer on the display, which began to slowly tick down closer to zero.

"Of course. Of course, you sick bastard!" Patrick throws his hands up in the air as he speaks through near-gritted teeth. "It's only natural that the second I try and take control of anything in my life, the narrative- your narrative, mind you- something has to turn the tables about to make it so I can't win. You even had to stroll down here in your friggin' prom clothes to watch this unfold, eh?!" He kicks his own foot at the railing bar adjacent, without any flinch or indication that he cared about the pain. "You get your kicks or something to this stuff? To this, this struggle, huh? Sad prick, can't even take his emotions out in a healthy way, boo hoo!" Patrick exclaims with a snarl as he pulls on his left suspender. He storms up to Victor and holds one of his blazer lapels in a vice grip. "Guess what, though- I can win, no matter what this doggone world wants to happen to me, and I WILL succeed in beating YOU." He pushes Victor back and pulls his hair back before rushing to the threshold of the button room, where he looks back for a moment.

"I will give you credit with the presentation, though. I would have done the exact same," he says with a smirk, before running into the room and jumping onto the main floor, assessing his surroundings with a quick scan. Admittedly, the lights and atmosphere weren't any help to his attempt to corral any logical thoughts that could save his sorry bum, but the passion could prove enough for now.

Patrick stumbles his way to the desks with the buttons in a row under monitors and stands over them, hands shaking as he gathers his thoughts. "Right, right- a couple of colorful buttons in a row under a screen. I've seen this before, it's just like [Japanese Arcade Rhythm Game], yeah. I just need to- uh-" Using the thumb and pinky finger on each hand, he positions his hands to be able to press four inputs at once, and pushes down.

[depressionofcybernetics]

A young employee was slumped over at his desk, snoring away. He had just been reset for the something-th time today.

Victor sat at his desk, frustrated by how long it was taking for his fellow protagonist to wake up. How long would it be until his companion finally sprung back to life? Who knows. For now, he continued to watch over his employee, waiting eternally.

@thenarrator385

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pop up of sorts would appear for Victor, the page seemed roughly put together at the last minute. And almost as if it knew when he'd finished reading, it proceeded.

The figure seemed to speak alongside whatever Victor was reading, and the arrows increasingly pointed to the press here button. This couldn't lead to any trouble could it

[slowlyrot8tinghorsecylinder]

TSPUD Roleplay Thread

[For @thenarrator385 's prompt]

==>

Marimo Inaba had fucked up.

Unfortunately, this is far from the first time this has happened.

Well, not this <i>specifically</i>, but Mo has more than enough experience with yellow and red-themed individuals beaming dialog into her brain from god knows where. That's why accepting the events that started all this was so easy. For all she knew, this was the anthpromorphisized manifestation ((A.K.A. a Will) of humanity's Desire giving her a test, showing her a world where she could have a decently paying career that didn't challenge her too much, yet left room for adventure. Or it was the manifestation of humanity's Will of Luck, placing her totally by chance in a scenario not built for her, but perfectly challenging to her specifically.

Well. It's not like being a magical girl helped that much in an office with nothing to fight, but with her burgeoning connection to humanity's emotional Wills, she does have a little influence. Luck gives her better choices than the initial two she'd been presented with, Desire helps her access hidden areas, Death giving her the ability to rewind unharmed to the same position (or so she has to assume, even if he's been awfully quiet lately), and Self...

Self may very well be The Narrator, or he could even be one of the acolytes of Self granted access to an array of its powers in exchange for unerring loyalty. Dealing with magic and human Willpower never gets less confusing.

But back to the present. After a few rather exciting go-throughs, she'd decided to go back to that first, perfectly-sculpted ending The Narrator was so obsessed with. After all, if she ever wanted to escape, it would do well to make him happy, right?

It seems like she's done that, even if it's coming at the cost of one of her lives. The thought of death by explosion isn't what makes her blood run cold (if the burn scars on the right side of her face and her right hand are anything to go by, fire isn't an unfamiliar pain to her), though. What makes her blood run cold is watching this individual reveal himself (itself? could Wills really be assed to take human ideas of gender into account?), and a version of himself entirely pleased to watch her writhe until her inevitable untimely end.

Except nothing is inevitable for Mo, not even Fate itself. Mentally cursing the peal of Desire's laughter that rings through her skull at that <i>particular</i> flip of her stomach at the sight of The Narrator's chosen form, she takes a slow step towards him, then another.

Her voice comes out level. Placating in the same tone she uses on angry customers at her old job. "I can tell you're upset that I ruined your favorite ending, but this doesn't have to end this way, uh... Mr. Narrator, sir."