open/closed/catch-all → the life that I have found.

[pse]

Who: Kimiko Miyashiro + various!
Where: Panorama; surrounding area
When: February
What: Catch-all malarkey

Warnings: TBA!

( Starters below! Open to PMs for plotting. ✨ )

Comments

open → dome.

[pse]

[ Returning to the fights after de-listing herself for a few weeks, it wouldn't be a stretch to call her out of step, if not just this side of rusty. She works her way up a few tiers before appealing to the crowd preference of watching her be maimed and regrow — once both arms are torn off in succession, that's it for her. The blood loss disqualifies her from continuing, leaving her a touch pale, forcing Dome staff to declare a fifteen minute intermission while they mop up the ring.

Maybe someone faces off with her before that. She's firmly placed high up in the superpowered class, and she comes to the ring with no weapons save herself. Her opponent, whoever it is, gets a brief nod before the bell rings and she's closing the distance. What she lacks in reach, she makes up for in speed.

After the fights, she can be found collecting her money, arms freshly regrown. Nursing a drink, she rolls her eyes and says nothing when her last opponent of the day saunters on up, waving one of her dismembered arms like it's a lasso. Already, the skin is a bit grey, the frayed edges of flesh at the socket turning a sickly, putrid black.

"Hey, little girl. Want this back?"

Laughing wildly, he tosses it onto the table. It lands with an uncomfortably damp thud. Kimiko only frowns down at it, before sliding her drink away from the still-twitching fingers.

Or, there's always the wildcard option. If asked, Kimiko can gently nudge someone to bet a certain way, or she's always open to sharing a table. ]

open → diffusion zone.

[pse]

[ A few hours north of Panorama, the shifting air of a diffusion zone pops out an acre or two of land. This, in itself, isn't terribly unusual — but the curved, brick-red dome boasts an eldritch unease. She makes the mistake of too close, and her vehicle powers down with a huff of exhaust that feels almost anxious. (Hopefully no one else has that problem. That would truly be some sort of literary irony.)

In the mean time, she tentatively approaches the dome. Sounds coming from the inside are highly synthesised: the joyful pew, pew, pew of simulated weaponry, the crackle and hum of smoke machines. Footsteps, joyed little shouts.

And, above it all, on a loudspeaker:

HELLO.
MY NAME IS 2-BIT.
PLEASE PRESENT YOUR PLAYER ID.

This little demand is on a cycle, playing every thirty seconds while 2-Bit can detect people lingering on the step. There's a screen mounted on the front door, with a pleasant little smiley face inside a cloud. It repeats itself—

HELLO.
MY NAME IS 2-BIT.
PLEASE PRESENT YOUR PLAYER ID.

Shifting away from the door, Kimiko peers in through a side window... just before it slams shut with a thick metal shutter.

HELLO.
MY NAME IS 2-BIT.
PLEASE PRESENT YOUR PLAYER ID. ]

closed → laura.

[pse]

closed → amos.

[pse]