...And also these.

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for N-Z characters )

Before you post your topcomment, please:
1. Check the first letter of your character's name as its written in our tags. A-M names go to the other post, and N-Z names comment here.
2. Make a note in your topcomment if anything especially triggering or graphic might show up in the Calibration. If you're not sure if something's worth noting or not, we suggest listing it anyway, just to err on the side of caution.
3. Put your character's name (it can be shortened or different from the tag, this time) in the subject of your comment. This will help visitors find you easily, and help us update the list below.
4. Post your comment! It's fine if everyone's Calibrations end up looking and reading very different from one another. As long as you're having fun and following our guidelines, you're good to go. :)
5. If you have any questions or concerns during Calibrations, you are welcome to send them towards the mod team at any time, as always.

ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - Q Nami Natasha Romanoff Nelkeila Tarid Nux Nyssa al Ghul Octavia Blake One Peggy Carter Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève

R - U R. Daneel Olivaw Rapunzel Remy LeBeau Riku Robin Redbreast Rogue Santanico Pandemonium Shawn Hunter Stefan (Alesci) Salvatore Steve "Orion" Rogers Steven Quartz Universe Souji Seta Stiles Stilinski Syeira Tadashi Hamada Tekhetsio

V - Z Vash the Stampede Vima Sunrider Vision (The) Wanda Maximoff Wrath Yamanaka Ino

Comments

Robin Redbreast

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[Ah, this place is thrumming. Not with anything you can hear or see, but it's there, just a little, underneath your skin and right behind your eyes. Makes you a little antsy, doesn't it? Or maybe it makes you comfortable, if it's been a long time since you've felt awake and alive enough to feel it.

It looks like someone's bedroom. The colors are aged and the light here is soft. It smells like candles and old tomes and vaguely of incense. To your left, there's a wooden table and a chair covered in stuff--old maps, fancy books, feathers, precious stones, mechanical parts, ribbons, small toys, colorful bottles, scraps of fur, none of which has been arranged with any particular care or logic. Next to the table is a huge pile of journals, several precarious stacks about four feet high. They all look full, thick with strong handwriting and loose paper.

The next wall over has a closed door, wood again, presumably leading into a closet or a bathroom. Two thick red threads have been taped to the door to form an X, though they do nothing to block you from entering. Further down is a smaller table with a record player on it, already loaded with a vinyl disk.

The biggest thing in the room is the bed directly to your right, which looks warm and comfy and slept-in. There's writing all over the wall above the headboard, but the text scrawls vertically, and it's hard to read. There are heavy gouge marks in the ceiling above that, but what could those be from?

Just as you start to orient yourself in this odd space, something under the bed starts rustling. The blankets that spill over the edge of the bed move a little bit, with whatever it is. You would have to lift them to see. Maybe it's nothing, maybe you can just ignore it. Maybe it's not all that important. Maybe none of this is all that important. Maybe you can just sit here and not touch anything and everything will be fine.

But the thrumming is making your fingers itch. You may not be able to sit still for long.]

---

[[warnings: mild depression, dead siblings, and childhood neglect may come up in the main room. behind the door are a bunch of very not-subtle signs of self-loathing, self-harm, and implications of attempted suicide. please let me know if any of this bothers you, and I can steer the room towards kinder things.

I am also totally fine with anyone visiting his Calibration, even strangers! c:]]

[save_the_souls]

[To Allen, the thrumming feels...good. It reminded him of the feeling of when he was on the battlefield, facing opponents. Like his blood had been frozen only to thaw now and flow through his veins once more. This feeling wasn't the same as fighting, but it was good enough that while most people would be taking in their surroundings, Allen is taking a moment to revel in that feeling. It's not easy being part weapon, okay]

[But even his little thrumming high is distracted by the rustling in the bed out of the corner of his eye. He seems to realize now that he's in some sort of room- and there's probably something under the covers]

- Hello?

Shawn Hunter

[unfulfilledpotential]

[The sun's shining as bright as ever, the sky is impeccably clear, the day is warm and - and that's definitely the roar of an engine. It's a beautiful, gorgeous day (maybe worthy of sunglasses, maybe not) - and you, my friend, have either a front-row passenger seat or a backseat to the action.

Once you adjust either to the sunlight or to the engine's purr, you find yourself seated somewhere inside a red convertible as it cruises along an empty highway. Miles and miles of road stretch ahead of you, and there's no stopping this impromptu road trip. (Those with motion sickness will find a water bottle and the proper medications beside them.)

There's also a looped song playing from the speakers - it's quiet but irresistibly catchy.

Shawn's sitting in the driver seat, the wind blowing through his hair as he bobs his head along to the melody. So far, he hasn't quite noticed his passenger: all eyes are on the road ahead of him. Every few minutes, a new highway sign pops up, reminding him of where to drive. As each sign passes, their names become clearer - and if you cruise along the highway long enough, you may notice that you end up right back where you started. This road trip's a circular one.

Inside the car, there are a few points of interest, other than the oblivious driver and the highway signs: his glove department, stashed with a few dozen CDs, is ajar; and a few trinkets, including a Class of '98 tassel and a Chubbies keychain, hang off his rearview mirror. There's even a parking permit for Pennbrook University on the windshield.

What draws your attention first?

► The glove department?
► The song on the radio?
► The highway markers?
► The trinkets along his windshield?
► The oblivious driver?
► OR something else altogether (that you'd have to detail)??]

[CAUTION: Some choices may lead to sensitive topics! In the event that it happens, I'll note exactly what kind of content you'll need to watch out for.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[the rustling suddenly quiets. anxious seconds tick by, like someone holding their breath...

but not for long. there's a flutter, the tip of a wing pokes out from under the sheet, and an ugly CRUAW gives away that Allen is definitely not alone. a large, raggedy crow tumbles out into the room, barely dodging the pale hands trying to snatch it.]

--Hey! [a young, upset voice, thin arms--they slip and knock their elbows against the ground while the bird finds its footing. it's quick to hop out of range of the blindly-grabbing child.]

[save_the_souls]

[He jumps back as the crow caws and tumbles out of the bed. Okay, he wasn't expecting that. It gets even more curious when he hears the child and sees the arm reaching out]

- Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to startle- either of you!

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[after a moment of scrambling, the boy under the bed finally grabs at the blankets in front of him, shoving them up out of the way--revealing a pale face, bone-white hair, and red eyes open wide and startled.

he points at the crow--] No, catch him! Quick! He's not supposed to be out--!

[he's barely said it before he starts trying to untangle himself... the crow, meanwhile, has hopped back towards the legs of the small record table, and has fixed Allen with a very pointed stare.]

[child_of_bhaal]

[The thrumming makes the little hairs along her arms and at the back of her neck stand on edge. Not from fear, but a sensation of intensity. She rubs her arms to soothe the feeling, while she takes stock of the space.

She doesn't feel odd, being in someone's sleeping quarters. She's used to walking in to places she's not necessarily supposed to be on a frequent basis. And since she doesn't know where this is, it warrants exploration.

She touches things absently; the brick-a-brack of someone's life, not quite disturbing things, just orienting herself. Then she sees the door. The X might as well be a welcome sign. There's likely something behind there. But as she moves towards it, the rustling from under the bed stops her.

Movement takes priority. It could be dangerous after all. Or someone or something needing help. She cries to the bed, kneeling down carefully and lifts the blanket so she might peer underneath.]

[got_it_memorized]

[This place feels strangely alive, like a current of energy is just coursing through the room, and Axel can't decide if it makes him feel energized or uncomfortable. It's like he's just scooted across thick carpet in stocking feet and now he just needs to find the right unsuspecting victim to shock with static.

[It's kind of a mess--there's so much stuff! Axel only vaguely remembers his childhood bedroom; it's been so long since he had things that it's odd to him to see someone's living space so overrun with trinkets and clutter. His eyes are drawn to the stacks of journals beside the table, and he approaches them slowly. Something in the back of his mind tells him this is none of his business, that these journals are probably very private and not meant for prying eyes, but his curiosity is too strong. He's spent too long doing recon and collecting information to just walk past such a tantalizing wealth of it.

[Reaching for the topmost journal, Axel's fingers brush the cover, and he picks it up, carefully opening the cover.]

Riku

[limitstorm]

[ ( music - dearly beloved (music box vers))

when you open your eyes, you're standing on a pillar in the middle of darkness. a white light shines from up above, illuminating the stained glass below your feet. the stained glass is a strange design, small circles outlining the edge while a silhouette of a young man is in the middle. everything is a shade of seagreen, black or white--and on the circles at cardinal points, there is a yin-yang sign.

even though it is stained glass, it's surprisingly sturdy--but you may be able to see cracks and splinters in some places.

the main event, however, is the boy in the middle.

if you know riku, you might know who it is--after all, it's hard to mistake that silver hair and peekaboo belly button--but he looks younger. he just seems to be... standing there, his eyes closed, hands at his sides. he doesn't seem to be moving at all, almost as if he'd fallen asleep standing up. if you're perceptive, you may be able to see a soft glint, like there's something attached to him, leading upward.

the only movement, however, comes from five objects on five pillars around the room.

the one to the southwest looks simple, clean-cut and almost minimalist in design.

the one at the northwest looks like it's forged out of malice and wrought iron.

the one sitting at the north, mostly obscured by riku's form, is a little scary--but almost strikes a complete balance between a darkness and a light.

one looks almost angelic in design, shining like mother-of-pearl. it sits northeast.

the last blade, sitting at the southeast, looks in a word, sturdy, like it's made of bronze and wood.

all five hover and turn, as if on display for someone. ]

[ ooc: warnings for: depression, emotional/mental abuse and probably physical abuse of a minor, depending if someone gets that far. you can choose multiple keyblades, but you can only wield one. ]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[the longer she soaks in the space, the less that feeling of thrumming is noticeable... maybe she just gets used to it, or maybe the rest of the room serves as a suitable distraction.

something about this space is almost dreamlike, even though the things she touches feel as real as they were when she was awake. there are no traps and no discernible magics. the door is just a boring door, from over here...

but ah, the rustling! as she lifts the blankets, something black and ruffled suddenly tumbles into her knees--a flustered tangle of feathers and angry cawing, followed by two pale little hands reaching out to try and grab it.]

Hey! You can't--! [they sound like a child. a pale boy with bone-white hair.]

[limitstorm]

[ ... where is he?

not his bedroom. he knows that for sure--it's too messy, smells too much.

when he hears a rustling, riku's quick to stare at the bed, and slowly pulls on the covers to completely take it off the bed. what's there? does he need to be concerned? too bad there's no baseball bat or something around to smack whatever crawls out... ]

[save_the_souls]

Uh-

[He doesn't really think twice about the boys paleness- other than "oh hey albino" unlike the fake one that he is. But why was he trying to keep that bird in the sheets? That's...not a very good place to keep a bird locked up.]

[But hey, whatever. Not his pet. He'll start to step forward, slowly reaching out for the bird with his left hand.]

Hey...bird. Nice bird.

[got_it_memorized]

[Axel is used to darkness, but there's something really eerie about this place. The lighting is too stark, the colors are too bright. He examines the translucent glass under his feet, then lifts his eyes and frowns when he spies the figure in the center of the circle.]

Riku?

[He's hard to mistake, though he looks younger here than Axel recalls. He looks the way he did when he watched him in Castle Oblivion. He ignores the Keyblades for the moment and approaches Riku's still form, reaching out and waving a hand in front of his face.]

Yo. Riku. Anybody in there?

[Is he sleeping? Standing up? Man, that's some dedicated napping, even Axel has to admit. He moves to touch his shoulder, then withdraws, remembering the way Riku flinched the last time he reached for him. Whatever's going on, he doesn't want to startle him (he might kick his ass).

[Turning his attention to the Keyblades instead, Axel just peers quietly at them. He recognizes the Kingdom Key--that's the one Sora used, the one Roxas usually carried. He recognizes Oblivion and Oathkeeper, too--those are the ones Roxas whipped out during their final altercation in the illusory Twilight Town. Way to the Dawn he's sure he's seen before, too--that one's Riku's Keyblade of choice, isn't it? So what's the last one?

[Moving past Riku, he approaches Way to the Dawn, wondering if touching it might wake Riku up. It's worth a try, right? He reaches out hesitantly, the Keyblade spinning slowly before him, but he can't quite bring himself to touch it. He's not a Keyblade wielder, what will happen if he tries to take it? He glances back over his shoulder at Riku, then huffs.

[He's gonna touch it. What's the worst that could happen?]

1/2 (memory)

[limitstorm]

[ video accompaniment. ]

At least you can fly.

Well, glide. It’s not really flying, you muse—you right yourself and catch a flicker of silver out of the corner of your eye. Once you see him, you head over, coming to a stop before the boiling volcano. Everything’s too dark—but you can vaguely tell his shape. This is the same unknown boy you’ve been seeing all over the place, causing trouble in the dream worlds.

“You waiting for me?” you call, shoulders back. You need to be imposing. The volcano makes you a little nervous (islanders know above all how dangerous volcanoes can be) but you mask it as best as you can.

He’s prompt to answer, at least. “Yes. The boy chosen by the Keyblade--Riku.”

Startled, you flinch slightly. “What?”

Even if he doesn’t smirk, it’s like his voice does, all smugness and pride, like a taunt. “It was yours first, wasn't it? But you succumbed to the darkness you could not control, and your prize--the Keyblade--passed onto Sora instead.”

You grit your teeth, shoulders hunching and hands fisting at your sides. You can’t help it—you stare at your feet, guilt and self-hatred boiling in your chest and stomach like bile. Like lava.

“Your mistakes always end up being other people's problems.” He says, and you might as well hear Xehanort’s Heartless’s laughter as he possesses you all over again.

You can’t let that overcome you. You’re quick, you stamp out your feelings, and you peer back up at him with a stern smile and a victory forced into your eyes. “Maybe so. But I'm here to change all of that.”

It’s a bold claim, to be sure—and you’re not sure if you’re saying it to intimidate him, or if you’re trying to remind yourself of what you’re trying to do to complete this exam. The title of “Master” means nothing to you, after all. Being worthy of the Keyblade, worthy of sharing responsibility with Sora—that’s the true prize.

He almost sighs. “Once again you performed predictably, although on a grander scale than I imagined.”

There’s some anger that festers in your chest, so you tip your chin up. “If you're feeling so chatty, let's skip to where you reveal what this is all about.”

A tense silence falls between both of you. Neither of you wants to back down, but eventually, the unknown boy does.

“I don't know how you did it,” he starts, his voice resigned—but also somewhat impressed. “but you really have found a way to trap darkness inside your heart. And a boy who's immune to darkness is of no use to us.”

You tilt your head. “Well, there's some good news.”

“Your abyss awaits.” The volcano erupts, and you start—smoke and ash pour outward, and the boy disappears. From the black smoke emerges a demon, huge and powerful, and you hunch your shoulders as you ready to fight.

2/2

[limitstorm]

[ ready to fight, indeed. once axel grips way to the dawn, riku does awaken-- but probably not in the way he wants. immediately, riku turns, and there's a blast of darkness from behind him as xehanort's heartless appears. he's more of a ghost than a person, hovering threateningly behind him as he races towards axel. his eyes are amber. ]

[stefanged]

[Stefan hasn't felt cold in over a century, and yet, as he stares up towards the white light, he feels something gnawing at him. If this is a dream, it isn't his. He remembers faintly, the ability to waltz through other dreams and manipulate theirs. Is he doing that again?

He hopes not. This feels way too intrusive and-- and that's Riku. Stefan rushes towards him. Other objects be damned, the kid is way more important.]

Riku!

[He kneels down, trying to discern for any possible injury. So far, nothing. The kid's somehow managed to fall asleep standing up? Still, Stefan reaches out for his hand, as if that'll do something - anything - to wake him up.] Hey, Riku? You alright?

[got_it_memorized]

[He's not sure how much time actually passes as the memory plays through his head, and when it ends, Axel staggers, feeling a little lightheaded. What the hell was that? It was so vivid--much clearer than a dream, and that voice, he was sure it was Riku's... how could he see something through Riku's eyes? Who was the strange silver-haired young man taunting him?

[He stares down at the hilt of the Keyblade in his grip, and for a moment he's startled. He can hold it? Riku had told him he has a Keyblade of his own, sometime in the apparently not so distant future... is it really true? How else could he hold this one? A Keyblade is tied to the wielder's heart, isn't it? Shouldn't a Keyblade that belongs to someone else vanish from his hand?

[He doesn't really have time to speculate. He feels the blast of darkness, like a ripple of wind before a lightning strike, and he whirls sharply in time to see Riku turn to face him. Over his shoulder, the hulking form of Xehanort's Heartless looms over him like a warped and twisted shadow. But it's Riku's eyes that send the shudder down Axel's spine: they're not that striking green-blue anymore... no, they're the same sallow, tarnished gold color of Xemnas' eyes, of Xigbar's eyes... of Saïx's eyes.]

... Riku?

[He barely gets the name out before Riku lunges at him, and Axel lets out a yelp of surprise, bringing the Keyblade to bear reflexively. He's not sure how much good a borrowed weapon will do him, but he knows he can't beat Riku in a fight.]

[limitstorm]

[ at first, there's no movement, but his eyes suddenly tighten shut--and his chin tilts up, almost like he's trying to wake up. almost as soon as he tries, though, it's shut down. he exhales as if exhausted and falls back into a peaceful, slumber-like trance. stefan has seen riku's darkness, just once before--but it's unmistakable as a man seems to fade in behind him, like a ghost. he grins fiendishly, like a cat toying with a mouse. he says nothing, but raises a hand, and riku mimics the action. the glint is clearer now--the man is controlling riku like a puppet, to put a hand against stefan's chest-- and blast him back with the darkness pealing at his feet. the man disappears, and riku is once again still. ]

[child_of_bhaal]

[Well, her first reaction is to catch the bird. It's right there and she's dexterous enough. Though she's gentle about it. She holds it around it's body, so the wings are pinged and she doesn't hurt the animal by accident. Minsc would be pleased.

Then she tilts her head down to look at what those hands are attached to.]

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Either of you.

[limitstorm]

[ riku hits it with a clang of metal, his own blade a strange shape, one that axel hasn't seen before.

he doesn't stop at just one hit, he keeps on going. two, three, four, five--

it's only then that he pauses. the interesting thing is that the heartless, too, is mimicking his movements.

or... is riku mimicking his? who's really in charge? ]

Natasha Romanoff

[tothefly]

You begin, as we all do, in the dark. Pitch black, dizzying, and for a moment you aren't even sure if you're standing on anything at all, or just floating in the darkness. This changes as the lights come on slowly, almost unnoticeably, until they brighten enough to reveal an empty room. Wooden floors, polished to a high sheen. Bare walls to either side, a bare wall in front of you, all painted red. No, crimson. The kind of red that shines like a warning sign, like a darkroom, like blood freshly spilled. Something whispers behind you. You whirl around, but there's no one there. Only a startlingly realistic painting that takes up nearly the entire wall, of a stage ready for performers.

From behind you comes a voice, small and musical. "You're late. The show's already over. The audience has all gone home."

If you turn, the wall behind you is no longer blank. Instead, it's covered in shelves, and those shelves are full to bursting with curios, knick-knacks, junk, refuse, gems, treasures. It looks like someone vomited an antique store in here, honestly. The jumble is a little overwhelming, but there are a few objects that catch the eye: on the lowest shelf, among larger objects, a gun is wedged in the left corner, and further to the right on top of a pile of maps is a pair of battered ballet slippers. The next shelf up is mostly books in various stages of decay, some hardcovers, some mass-market paperbacks, though one ledger stands out from the rest. The shelf at chest level holds piles of clothing from various eras, and nestled among them are two dolls: a classic Matryoshka doll and a faceless rag doll. The next shelf up is for larger conversational pieces, it seems, among them a very battered but recognizable shield and a Russian seven-stringed guitar.

And from the top shelf comes a voice again, from a doll-sized but strikingly Natasha-shaped ballerina perched daintily atop a hatbox. "Or have you come to perform?" The question is musical, keen with interest. Maybe if you answer just right, she'll share one of her treasures with you.

(From here you can do a variety of things, including but not limited to: talk to the ballerina-sized Natasha, try to take something from the shelves, examine something more closely, or touch the large painting--which may or may not let you out of the room.)

**Potential content is likely to include violence and bloodshed, extreme emotions, and/or death of others. All content will be tagged as needed.**

Yamanaka Ino

[ino]

[ Nothing seems amiss when you walk in, a faint bell jingling behind you as though you've entered a store ... which, upon further inspection, you have. It's a bright, well-lit room, windows behind you letting the sunlight pour in and illuminating the soft yellow of the walls. The structure of the room itself is simple, minimally decorated, but it's not too noticeable given the amount of plant life that's been placed along the walls. They're arranged in many different vases, pots, etc. -- all artfully and skillfully placed, ready to be bought.

All of the merchandise is to your right, but to the left, there's a counter, which Ino appears to be standing behind. She's got a yellow apron on over her usual clothes, and she's leaning on the counter watching you as you check the place out with an amused look on her face. Curiously, she also looks a touch older -- in her early twenties, perhaps, her hair out of its usual ponytail and all the way down to the backs of her knees.

She'll gesture over to the selection of flowers:



Of course, there's no meanings posted near the flowers, only the names -- but if one were to approach any of them individually, they would feel a particular vibe around them that matches the meaning well. ]

If you see anything you like, let me know~! Or ... maybe you're looking for something for a special someone?

[[ Standard murder and death warnings apply here, of course. That's about the extent of the disturbing/trigger-worthy content here, but if there's anything else in particular you'd like to avoid, let me know! Her room is open to everyone, but she'll be much more forthcoming with those she knows well. ]]

[takeabow]

[ Nova is drawn toward the zinnia, though she doesn't really understand why. she wanders over to it before even noticing her host, almost—but not quite—brushing her fingers over the petals. Finally she looks up and sees Ino ]

Oh. Hey.

These are nice.

souji seta | likely cw: child death, blood, self-injury, gore, torture, fire, violence

[truthvalue]

You walk through the door, and the first thing you notice inside the shop is how much warmer it is in here than it is outside. There’s a fire blazing in the back of the cramped, smoky room, behind dusty shelves crammed with axes and katanas; to the right, you’ll find counters piled with all manner of knick-knacks and bits of twisted and hammered metal. There’s a blob of iron that could pass for a paperweight, fashioned in the shape of a fish; another that resembles a pair of glasses with impossibly-hinged working earpieces; still others that look like ornate buttons from an antique military coat and rings with intricate, delicate scrollwork. Knives of all shapes and sizes hang on the wall behind the counter, glinting and sharp in the light of the fire. A wooden stand near the shelves displays a suit of armor made of hammered steel.

The grey-haired boy behind the table in the center of the room bows his head as you approach. “Welcome,” he says, quietly, gently. “Have you come to look at my art?”

Rogue

[touchofrogue]

The first thing a guest might notice is the smell of baking bread. Illusive and faint, just enough to stir appetite but faint enough so that you know it's no where near where you are, or if it is, it's behind one of the closed doors and not meant for you.

You are in a common living room. The colors are warm and earthy, mostly neutral browns and sandy, golden yellows with the occasional accent burst of dramatic warm color, such as the red storage shelf or the purple armchair. The floor is hard wood, gleaming cherry, and there are cozy throw blankets draped gracefully over the back of the couch and armchair. The room is highly organized, only a small stack of books by the couch seem out of place, but it has a very lived-in feel. The furniture is mostly modern and smooth, with the occasional nod to far older, traditional lines.

The ceiling lights are on, but dim. There are salt candles on the mantle reflecting dramatically in the shattered mirror hung above it. The uniquely designed coffee table actually houses a coal fireplace - the air has the faintest hint of a chill in it, enough that you may wish to step closer to the flame, make use of a throw blanket, get comfortable. A wind is blowing somewhere outside, and you can occasionally hear it whistling, hear the window rattling with the stronger gusts.

Closer to the window, you can look out on a magnolia tree, stirring in the breeze. If you stare at it long enough, you may catch all four seasons. And if you're there longer still, that breeze may begin to sound more and more like whispers, a low murmuring of voices than a breeze.

Guests are free to wander around at their own risk. Overall, it is a very tactile room, with different textures and textiles blending seamlessly together. The whole place seems to be begging for a touch. Go ahead. Explore.


[Standard warnings of war and pain and self-loathing. Let me know if you're not interested in any of those options, and I will make sure it doesn't happen. Am open to anyone just dropping on it!]