Week 1 [Day 1-Day 3]

[calloperators]

[After a long stressful day like this has been, maybe you want to curl up in bed and try to sleep this whole thing off, or maybe you stay up all night desperately trying to find a way out of this town. Whether it be asking the cops for help, trying to steal a car, or just simply trying to walk out of town, you will unfortunately find your attempts to escape fruitless.

Even with it being obvious something strange is going on, no one has shown their face yet to even hint that they're the ones behind it. And you have no idea if or when they will.

However, in the very least you have a whole town to explore, and at the start of each day, and the beginning of every night, no matter where you are, you'll suddenly hear a radio crackle to life. Whether this is comforting or unsettling? Well, that's up to you to decide.

Just have a good time and try not think about the letter you got earlier, okay?]

< LOCATIONS | REGAINS | TAKEN >

[ DAY 1 (SUNDAY) || NIGHT 1 (MONDAY) || DAY 2 (TUESDAY) || NIGHT 2 (WEDNESDAY) || DAY 3 (THURSDAY) ]
((OOC: Welcome to Week 1 of Hotline! As you can probably tell by the fact that Day 2 and beyond are frozen, we will have no grace week so we can get right into the murder!

And if you want to investigate the town, you just need to write INVESTIGATION in your header! Have fun ;) ))

Comments

arcade

[rainblower]

[There's someone in a gas mask and asbestos suit who's been standing near the cabinet for a while, staring unblinkingly at Mr. Satan and patiently waiting their turn. Satan probably wouldn't have noticed them--they've been standing behind him. One might interpret their presence to be somewhat foreboding, due to the fact that...they seem to be wielding a frying pan and tapping it against their hand. Is that allowed here? There's not a rule against frying pans, is there?

After several minutes, they clear their throat to allow their presence to be known.]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[Hearing the sudden noise, Satan hits the brakes on the race to find the source. He whips his head side-to-side to check his periphery, then he peeks between his legs to see if someone snuck in there... until finally... he slowly tilts his head up, eyes widening in shock.]

...G-God? Do You want in on this game?

[rainblower]

[...

Pyro just sort of stares at Satan for a few moments, scratching their head. They don't know who Satan is talking to, but that's fine! Maybe he just can't see them. They nod slowly, still tapping the frying pan against their hand.]

Mmhmm.

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[Satan pauses for a while, before deciding to hit the gas again, tilting his head back down to look at the screen in front of him.] ...listen. I know we haven't talked much, and You're probably not too keen on the whole "Satan" thing, or the "fighting for money" thing, or the "lying to get praised by the masses" thing, or the "not setting foot in a church in years" thing, or the...

[He veers into a hard left turn past a Pepsi sign.] -woah. Heya, God, d'You mind hanging on a sec? I gotta finish this lap first.

[rainblower]

[Pyro waits for approximately 5.3 seconds, watching Satan nearly crash into the Pepsi sign. They're not good at being told to stand still and wait. Slightly annoyed, they whack the frying pan against the frame of the console with a loud CLANG. Maybe that'll get him to get out of his seat.]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[And with that, this car race confessional gets cut short. The sonic shock to his system makes Satan swerve so hard he breaks the steering wheel off the console as he tumbles out the side of the seat, gripping onto it for dear life as he lay a shivering, pleading pile on the floor.]

Alright! Alright! I get the point! I'll be better, I'll-! [He looks up, tension escaping him as he finally gets a good look at Pyro.] ...oh, that was just... you. [laughs] Well, never mind all that, then.

[rainblower]

[Pyro stares at Satan a little longer, having deposited the frying pan on top of the game cabinet. Their muffled breathing is quite noticeable.

After a moment or two, they extend a hand to help Satan up. Silly stranger. What's he doing rolling around?]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[Satan looks at their hand for a second, and decides to decline their offer to help, instead depositing the now broken-off steering wheel in Pyro's open palm.] Ha. No thanks, buddy. I can handle myself- I'm the one in charge of saving everybody else, it'd be- [Giving a grunt, he crawls up to the wall and starts leaning against it to push himself up into a standing position.] a REAL problem, if I couldn't- [He gives a deep breath upon getting back on his feet again... his back still pressed firmly against the wall for support.] ...yeah. See? That's what being the champ's about. [He crosses his arms to sell his Coolness even more.]

...y'might wanna talk to the whosit's running this joint about putting the wheel back in, by the by. Unless you're planning on just riding with the stick shift and crashing the car on every turn.

[rainblower]

[Pyro glances at the broken piece of equipment in their hand, then tosses it off to the side. Littering? Nah, this is an arcade, the floors are dirty enough already without them littering. With a loud scraping noise, they take the frying pan off the top of the cabinet and sling it accross their back.

They make eye contact with Satan briefly--but within that second, Satan can see into their mask, and is greeting with nothing but the unanswering void. But he gets the distinct impression he's being judged.

After another pause, they glance to the side to see another arcade cabinet and point at it. It's a version of Punch-Out!! If he's the champ, why doesn't he try that one?]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[Oh no. He's in no shape to try standing on his own two feet playing a game he knows nothing about. Think fast, make up an excuse!]

O-oh. Uh... Y'wanna see me play that? Eh, t-too bad, you know, I'm just so strong... none of the fighting games work, 'cause the programmers put in a killswitch that recognizes my fingerprints, a-and all those little digital fighters just give up the second they know they're up against me. S-so... it wouldn't be any fun to see me play! [laughs]

[...]

Yeah.

[He stares expectantly at the Pyro, secretly crumbling under the oppressive weight of their vacant, judging eyes, praying that they don't interrogate him on any of this.]

[rainblower]

[There's a pause that seems to stretch onward into eternity while they stare at Satan, tilting their head ever so slightly to the left. Fingerprints, huh?

They pull out a pair of latex gloves from their pockets--where the hell did they even get that?--and hand them over to Satan. There. Now no fingerprints.]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[In this infinite silence, Satan can physically feel his soul sliding out of his body desperate for an exit. Is this hell? This is hell. Maybe he jumped the gun too quick dismissing the idea that this walking asbestos suit couldn't be God in disguise. Or the actual devil. It's not like he can tell what's going on in there, either way. Even if his legs weren't already weak from his earlier exercise attempt, the sheer intensity in Pyro's unwavering, utterly indecipherable stare would still set his knees a-knocking like Martin Luther's hammer on the door of a Wittenburg church. And that's an especially impressive simile considering neither existed in his universe.]

[His breath stops dead in his chest as they put a hand in their pockets, mind racing with possibilities of what they could pull out- and he almost screams when he shows them the gloves. They're really insistent on this, huh?!]

H-hang on a minute, those latex, gasmask?! 'cause I got myself a wicked deadly latex allergy, it's so bad my hands withered to the size'a baby carrots last time I put on some gloves not knowing they were latex and that's no size hands to be mashing buttons with!

[He tries to laugh this all off to diffuse the tension, but he's so nervous that he's not even laughing anymore. He's literally just yelling "HA! HA HA! HA HA HA HA HA!", without so much as a smile on his face.]

[rainblower]

[Pyro tilts their head--this time, because they're puzzled. Latex allergy? Well...that's probably fine. They don't want people to do stuff that might hurt them or whatever. Unless it's fire. Then it's fine. They sadly put away the gloves into their belt pocket.

They take a step forward, still keeping their eyes on Satan. He still doesn't look very good. They offer a hand, again, in help to support his weight. Whether or not Satan will take it....]

[worldchampofmartialarts]

[Oh no. Oh no, is that disappointment?! Shit, that's not supposed to happen with anyone, much less someone who may or may not be a divine force of judgement sent to evaluate his character! He sees them extend a hand again- are they... offering him a shot at redemption?! After all the everything?! ...oh boy, he better take it. Without thinking, Satan grabs hold and motions to bring Pyro's hand to his mouth, intending on kissing their knuckles as a show of respect, but instead overshoots and winds up punching himself with their fist.]

MmHHGhghRRRh-!

[...]

[Y'know, that's... probably just as good a humbling gesture as if he got it right, right? Right?! He keeps an eye open, trying in vain to gauge Pyro's reaction.]