[ please direct your attentions HERE for Kim at the rebellion party! spoilers: it does not work. ]
b. level one.
[ Despite his - and everyone else's - best efforts, Kim still winds up at the very same Halloween party that he had expended all of his considerable willpower into resisting going to. He is not a man with an addictive, willful personality; he has always prided himself on being able to resist temptation, no longer how tantalizing. To feel so swayed to attend this horrible party, to fall prey to the hallucinations flickering out of the corner of his eye -- it's downright humiliating.
At least, he thinks it's humiliating until he looks down at himself and is appalled to realize that he's no longer in his customary outfit, his hardy jacket and cargo pants and sturdy boots nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by something a little more... fantastical. Some familiar with fantasy and tabletop games may recognize him as something fey - similar to Fearne, one of the City's denizens, in fact - and others, from such fantastical worlds, will see him in a cheap mockery of an extant culture. His ears are adorned with pointed rubber tips, fake antlers springing from his head, cloaked in swaths of linen in earthy browns and dappled greens, and -- ]
Is that a fucking tail?
[ It certainly is. Appalled, he tries to yank it off, only for it to hurt as though he's trying to pull off his own limb. It's only after he digs in one of his many pockets and takes out a map, only to see something deeply familiar, that he realizes what the City has done: it dressed him up as his old tabletop character.
This is insult added to injury, he decides, looking deeply dissatisfied with life as he stomps his way through level one of the haunted house. You might even see him punch an animatronic or two. Just pretend that you don't see the way he has to shake his fist out afterwards, will you? ]
c. level two.
[ Kim didn't expect things to remain as innocent as they seemed on the first floor and, indeed, they're not. But there's nothing for it. The only way out is through. Bereft of the crowbar he's taken to carrying around with himself - apparently it didn't suit the outfit that the City saw fit to put him in - he's instead liberated a model sword from one of the animatronics on the first floor. It's dull, unsharpened, deeply unfit to so much as slice through a piece of paper. But it's made of weighty, good quality metal, with a good enoug handle for him to get a grip on it, so he takes it with him anyway. What it lacks in stabbing prowess, it will make up for in his ability to give any attacker a concussion.
The air is different here. He makes his way through the second floor tentatively, peering around every corner, shoulders hunched and ready for whatever this place throws at him. The sobbing in the air sounds too genuinely dejected to be nothing more than a sound clip, the creaking of the floorboards, the ominous rattling from the walls...
Then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. An attacker? An ally? Or perhaps some monster, roused from its slumber to go after him and anyone else in the area? It's hard to say. ]
Hello...?
[ He raises the sword, feeling deeply foolish about it. He's going to need a better weapon, and fast. ]
d. aftermath.
[ Kim doesn't stick around for the afterparty. He doesn't know why the hell anyone would. This day - days? they all seem to be congealing together - has been an utter nightmare, and while Kim would typically go home to lick his wounds, meditate on the events of the past day, attempt to flee from the scientist he could have sworn had their eyes on him...
He really, really needs a smoke. Hell, maybe he needs two. Nobody needs to know. He goes directly into a convenience store, carefully ignoring his bedraggled appearance in the reflective surfaces (he can see the tell-tale bruising around his neck of being throttled, a bruise growing on the curve of his cheekbone, the long fabric of his blasted costume dirtied and torn, a cut oozing blood from his knee), and buys himself a pack of smokes.
He doesn't wait to go home to smoke them. His legs finally buckle beneath him as soon as he finds a sturdy looking curb to sit on, anticipation curling in his gut as he breathes in his first, long drag of nicotine. Smoke streams out from either side of his mouth, fading into the night's sky. As you approach, he eyes you warily, as though ready for another fight: friend or foe? ]
If you're going to attack me too, [ he drawls, ] at least wait until I've finished my cigarette. [ He jerks his head behind him, to where that blasted dorm room is, just a block away. ] I don't advise going in there, by the way.
e. wildcard!
[ truly up for anything and everything! if you'd like me to write a custom starter or to plot further, please mosey on over to my plotting comment and we can work something out! ]
kim kitsuragi | disco elysium
[ please direct your attentions HERE for Kim at the rebellion party! spoilers: it does not work. ]
b. level one.
[ Despite his - and everyone else's - best efforts, Kim still winds up at the very same Halloween party that he had expended all of his considerable willpower into resisting going to. He is not a man with an addictive, willful personality; he has always prided himself on being able to resist temptation, no longer how tantalizing. To feel so swayed to attend this horrible party, to fall prey to the hallucinations flickering out of the corner of his eye -- it's downright humiliating.
At least, he thinks it's humiliating until he looks down at himself and is appalled to realize that he's no longer in his customary outfit, his hardy jacket and cargo pants and sturdy boots nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by something a little more... fantastical. Some familiar with fantasy and tabletop games may recognize him as something fey - similar to Fearne, one of the City's denizens, in fact - and others, from such fantastical worlds, will see him in a cheap mockery of an extant culture. His ears are adorned with pointed rubber tips, fake antlers springing from his head, cloaked in swaths of linen in earthy browns and dappled greens, and -- ]
Is that a fucking tail?
[ It certainly is. Appalled, he tries to yank it off, only for it to hurt as though he's trying to pull off his own limb. It's only after he digs in one of his many pockets and takes out a map, only to see something deeply familiar, that he realizes what the City has done: it dressed him up as his old tabletop character.
This is insult added to injury, he decides, looking deeply dissatisfied with life as he stomps his way through level one of the haunted house. You might even see him punch an animatronic or two. Just pretend that you don't see the way he has to shake his fist out afterwards, will you? ]
c. level two.
[ Kim didn't expect things to remain as innocent as they seemed on the first floor and, indeed, they're not. But there's nothing for it. The only way out is through. Bereft of the crowbar he's taken to carrying around with himself - apparently it didn't suit the outfit that the City saw fit to put him in - he's instead liberated a model sword from one of the animatronics on the first floor. It's dull, unsharpened, deeply unfit to so much as slice through a piece of paper. But it's made of weighty, good quality metal, with a good enoug handle for him to get a grip on it, so he takes it with him anyway. What it lacks in stabbing prowess, it will make up for in his ability to give any attacker a concussion.
The air is different here. He makes his way through the second floor tentatively, peering around every corner, shoulders hunched and ready for whatever this place throws at him. The sobbing in the air sounds too genuinely dejected to be nothing more than a sound clip, the creaking of the floorboards, the ominous rattling from the walls...
Then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. An attacker? An ally? Or perhaps some monster, roused from its slumber to go after him and anyone else in the area? It's hard to say. ]
Hello...?
[ He raises the sword, feeling deeply foolish about it. He's going to need a better weapon, and fast. ]
d. aftermath.
[ Kim doesn't stick around for the afterparty. He doesn't know why the hell anyone would. This day - days? they all seem to be congealing together - has been an utter nightmare, and while Kim would typically go home to lick his wounds, meditate on the events of the past day, attempt to flee from the scientist he could have sworn had their eyes on him...
He really, really needs a smoke. Hell, maybe he needs two. Nobody needs to know. He goes directly into a convenience store, carefully ignoring his bedraggled appearance in the reflective surfaces (he can see the tell-tale bruising around his neck of being throttled, a bruise growing on the curve of his cheekbone, the long fabric of his blasted costume dirtied and torn, a cut oozing blood from his knee), and buys himself a pack of smokes.
He doesn't wait to go home to smoke them. His legs finally buckle beneath him as soon as he finds a sturdy looking curb to sit on, anticipation curling in his gut as he breathes in his first, long drag of nicotine. Smoke streams out from either side of his mouth, fading into the night's sky. As you approach, he eyes you warily, as though ready for another fight: friend or foe? ]
If you're going to attack me too, [ he drawls, ] at least wait until I've finished my cigarette. [ He jerks his head behind him, to where that blasted dorm room is, just a block away. ] I don't advise going in there, by the way.
e. wildcard!
[ truly up for anything and everything! if you'd like me to write a custom starter or to plot further, please mosey on over to my plotting comment and we can work something out! ]