Rappel du premier message :

CONTRAT DE NOT'RP !

- Statut du RP : privé i guess ? :d
- Tour de jeu : //
- Délai maximum d'attente de réponse : hmm, deux semaines ?
- Autre : yes.

Don't you hate it when you wake up and end up not knowing where you are ?
I don’t. It’s one of my favorite pure bliss moment, actually ; you basically forget about everything that's a big deal. Like the fact that you are in a zombie apocalypse. Shit I remember that. Great, now it’s ruined.

… I still have no clue about this place though. No clue at all.

Although it does look like a living room, and an old-fashioned one that is ; chimney made of visible bricks, velvet curtains (there's a dusty beam of light passing throught, so I assume It’s morning – at least I know when I am) ; and a gloomy decoration (weird-ass looking portraits and two skulls in the shelves) ; did I mention the number of books in here ? No I didn’t because it would take a while to count them.

I left the bearskin carpet (where I was sitting) to get close to the shelves, I reached for one random book aaand… it was gibberish. I tried my luck with two more but they were also written in a foreign language. When I went to take a look out the window, the sight was poor as fuck. Only grass, that’s it. I couldn’t open the window, and I’m not dumb enough to break it, the smash could wake up the deads.

It was clearly a home, or maybe a mansion ; he’d have to explore it to know for sure.

I'm usually slow at waking up but, I’m little too conscious at this point to not remember anything related to this location and…an–

And he sneezed really loud. It was really dusty in here.

The police officers are putting me in chains. They accuse me of all kinds of stuff I haven't done. I try to tell 'em but my throat is dry and nothing comes out. The occasional mumbling maybe, but they don't hear it over all the cheering of finally having caught "that fucking psycho pervert". Pervert? Me? I'm confused, but they think I'm angry. They provoke me by saying stuff about my mum and a llama. I don't get it. Luckily Serah's there to help. Wait, Serah's there to help? What a nice guy.

That figure is me, I believe. They're pushing me towards the station, presumably to get me into a cell. Officers, no need for such violence. He obviously has no intention to escape, the poor soul. Is Serah talking about me? He sounds really gentle and caring. I knew he was a good guy all along. See, if you stick to your beliefs long enough...

HRP:

I think he's on my side. I mean, he does agree with the community to put me in a cell (apparently I'm a danger to society?), but he is obviously against the whole police violence thing. The officers relax when he speaks. Serah seems to have quite some influence here. I thought he didn't know where he was, but the way they speak to him... He must be a beloved figure. But I didn't do nothin'... I stammer. They don't hear me, though. Too preoccupied with Serah. He's some kind of holy figure if I see their faces.

Serah is the messiah. He spreads his arms and teaches people about forgive and forget. Scratch that, he's Ghandi. His smile even calms me down. This is a whole new side of him. I am perplexed. I'm intrigued by whatever it is he's saying, even though I don't understand any of it, but an officer guides me into the station (he's way more gentle now). Guilty or not, seems like I'm supposed to spend the night in the jail cell. Is Serah gonna bail me out?

HRP:

My cell is more comfortable and accommodating than my actual home. I'm pleasantly surprised. Apparently something else Serah is responsible for. I watch his face on the TV screen through the bars of my cell. The entire town seems obsessed with him. He stands for all that's good. Better schools, better prisons, better life. I can see why the people love him. Still, something feels wrong. The Serah I saw must've had a mental breakdown. I guess that tends to happen when you're always thinking of others instead of yourself.

HRP:

Everyone is smiling at me it's creepy. I'm heading down the police station, starting to regret the rabbit hole. That bar wasn't that strange, after all. The policemen let me in, I can see him. And I do see him, but I still feel the urge to punch his face (even though I kinda know it's not really him who broke my arm. Still want to punch him though). "So where's the other guy who looks like me? Did you talk to him ?" Hm, maybe I should be a little more diplomatic. "Uh. You seem Ok."

Serah. IRL. I get up and walk to the front of my cell. He looks kind of damaged. I feel guilty when I see his nose. Other guy? I want to ask what he's talking about, but it all starts to become abundantly clear when a "LIVE" appears next to TV-Serah's head. If they're filming live, and Serah is there in front of some kind of inaugural of a monument... then who is this Serah?

Oh so my parallel self is a criminal, huh? But your fake is quite nice, I notice. He seems "good" in every sense of the word. Not really the type to make you look bad at all. It makes you wonder whether real Serah is actually the bad version of himself.

"Bullshit, I bet that deep inside he's an asshole like everyone." At least I don't try to hide it. "Anyway all of that is probably an act. Or else that would mean we're in a parallel universe or some shit." It would explain a lot actually.

Neh.

I don't like to think about that. Life is already infinitely complicated. More than enough without that whole theory about parallel worlds and all. I shake it off. And my fake broke your arm ? I don't know if it's really contrary to what I'd do. I mean... I did break Serah's nose. Sorry...

Yeh, he probably did. Everyone is talking about him. I mean he may be just a product of my fucked up imagination, but that's too depressing. Even more depressing than actually believing in Riot. "He'd probably break yours too, so I wouldn't apologise on his behalf if I were you.". I groaned. "Can't you just open the damn door with your robotic arm ?"

I look at him like he's being silly (cause he is). Can punch really hard. Crush cans, maybe. Can't bend metal bars. That'd be very handy though. Way too expensive as an upgrade, that. I look around. Where did all the cops go ? Did Serah tell them to leave ? His fake's influence can probably be used and abused, no ? Ah... I feel bad just thinking about suggesting it. Maybe I should just serve my sentence.

An impostor, Sir? The policeman is hesitant. He glances at me through the bars of my cell, probably wondering why I'm just sitting there looking at the wall as if I've accepted the outcome to my criminal life. Are you certain? His characteristics are quite... striking. He's saying the world could not possibly have been cursed with another ugly mofo like me.

"Yeh, he's ugly. But he isn't the bad guy. I've been assaulted by the real one just a while ago." I should hurry up, if the other Serah steps in here, I'll end up locked up in a cell too, I think. "You sh--can let him go, he'll help me catch the real one." As if. "Oh, and can you give me the keys of your car too ?"

It was all a bit much to take in for the poor police officer. He blinks a few times, but his fingers automatically move to his belt. I... suppose so, yes. He hands Serah two keys, just like that. One for the doors to my cell and another for his car. It's the red sedan in the parking lot.

"Got it. Thanks." Well, that was a lot more easier than I thought. Before opening the cell, I leant against it a little while wondering if I can abuse my notority a little more and ask the nice policeman him for one of these delicious donnuts on the table. Meh, I’ll just serve myself on the way out. I free Riot without a word. I kinda suspect the drugs they gave me for my arm being responsible for cooling my head down.

I'm free. I attempt to give Serah a smile but my facial expression just turns sour, like I bit into a lemon. Clearly smiling isn't something I'm supposed to do. The universe says so. Thank you. I'll settle for a verbal way of appreciation.

"Uh-huh." Red sedan he said. I feel someone watching us like-- uh oh, it's only after getting in the car that I realize someone was on the backseat. Goddamit Serah, you need to always check the backseat. "We're heading somewhere nice." I can't say no when a coldass gun is against my neck. The other Riot is looking strangely at the other Riot. I mean. Uh. "Where ?" "Shut up and drive." Yeh but WHERE.

This is strange to say the least. I stare at my clone and he stares right back. Is that what I look like? Is that what other people have to look at all the time? I kind of understand the crying children and disgusted females. My face looks like a Picasso, and not in the good way. Did I always look so aggressive? I can drive if you want, Serah.