Delirium

The Beaches

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a part of Delirium, by Adoration.

The Beaches - Shell Beach, Back Cove, Oahu Park, Coronado Bay, Longtail Bay, and more. Some are located in Portland, some in the Wilds.

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over The Beaches, giving them the ability to make limited changes.
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Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/delirium_(lauren_oliver_novel)

Setting

The Beaches

"Even though the government tries to conceal the fact, practically everybody knows the rumors of how many infected citizens are found on Shell Beach. Shouldn't they have some common sense not to go there any more?"


Shell Beach: A popular beach that`s rather fun to explore. Mostly the area up on the large rock, which you can climb up to on the side facing the water. Some people can get suspicious when you do this though.
Back Cove: A not so popular beach. Not many regulators pass by this beach at night, and there`s a small cave near the trees that`s a nice place to hide.
Oahu Park: A fairly popular beach. The grass can go up to your thighs at some parts, which makes a nice place to hide and mess around.
Coronado Bay: People barely ever come here, because of the rather rocky shores. There`s a small cave, as you can see, that`s a good place to hide if needed.
Longtail Bay: The most popular beach in portland. People come here to tan usually on the shores.

There are a lot of other beaches, so feel free to make them up in the roleplay as you go.

{ Note, the above beaches are all in Portland. }
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The Beaches

The Beaches - Shell Beach, Back Cove, Oahu Park, Coronado Bay, Longtail Bay, and more. Some are located in Portland, some in the Wilds.

Minimap

The Beaches is a part of Delirium.

2 Characters Here

Virginia Hearst [4] "Walls have ears."
Finnigan Everett [3] "These are just rivers and roads until I reach you."

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Virginia Hearst

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❝ Virginia Hearst ❞




Polished eyes, crusted with cold shaded light
Shiny and painted with blue undertones
Right becomes left and left becomes right
Flaunted the skin, hidden the bones
Funny how mirrors become all you see
Pasty reflections and secret diseases
Smiling, I wonder how long it would be
Before the glass shattered to pieces, to pieces





On Saturday morning, Ginny was at the beach.




Mother Ocean, her chambers of water so deep
Upon liquid shelves my secrets she'll keep
Mother Ocean, she witnessed the words that I weep
Unanchored my worries and sang me to sleep


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Virginia Hearst Character Portrait: Finnigan Everett

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❝ Virginia Hearst ❞




Split the leaves of gold-framed books
Brush the surface with a plastic hand
But the puddle's deeper than it looks
And it's like sinking in quicksand

Never meant to go down this road
Never meant to wear this scarlet brand
This white-rimmed guilt's an exponential load
And it's like sinking in quicksand





Ginny didn't bash her head open on the rock-lined shore. Which was fortunate. She'd rather keep her brain inside her cranium, thank you very much, and the mess afterward would be such a hassle to clean up anyway. What was unfortunate was that there was this dark, massive hulk of a person pinning her down and clenching savagely at her clothes.

…How on earth did she get herself into these kinds of messes?

Briefly, she considered her options.

1. Scream.

2. Scream louder.

3. Punch her attacker in the face.

Well, in this monstrosity of a storm, screaming probably wouldn't be very useful. Screaming louder wouldn't make much of a difference, either, which meant that violence was the way to go. Her fist was already beginning its journey towards the mysterious person's nose when a lance of vivid light tore through the sky, helpfully illuminating Ginny's surroundings.

Her hand paused. This…was not a stranger. She knew this person.

"It's past curfew," said Finnegan Everett.

Ginny glanced at the face of her watch. 8:32 PM. True, the curfew in light of the storm had long since passed, but there was still a little time until the actual curfew, right? Right. As long as she still made it home by nine, she'd still be a decent human being.

"You almost stepped on my face," he continued, and Ginny felt a little spasm of guilt for even contemplating punching him in the face. What would she have done if she had hurt Skylar's younger brother? Even disregarding the fact that Ginny would probably be dragged off to the Crypts for assault, Skylar would never talk to her again. And for some reason, that thought was like red-hot iron—untouchable, unbearable. She recoiled from it.

Lost in thought as she was, it took Ginny a while to realize that Skylar's brother was holding out his hand in a gesture of help. Without thinking, she accepted it; the folds of his palms burned ice-cold against her own.

"Thank you," she said automatically. She began brushing down her grime-speckled raincoat, trying to rid herself of any evidence of the impromptu tumble.

It wasn't until she was brushing the last stray pebbles from her coat that it hit her, hard and heavy, like the falling stack of ten-ton bricks.

She had talked to a boy.

No, forget that—she had touched a boy. Practically held hands with him.

Oh gawd, she thought with a terrible, dawning sense of horror. Oh gawd, I did it. I'm turning into a criminal.

It was mind-boggling. Yesterday, she had been the perfect, upstanding citizen of Portland. Golden and shining, a role-model for all. Today, she had deteriorated into a common delinquent. Sneaking out at night, talking and touching boys. When would it stop, this horrible nosediving spiral? Would it even stop? Would she wake up tomorrow and then suddenly start spouting love songs, splash graffiti over the walls of downtown stores? Would she wake up, a year from now, as an infamous felon on the run from the law? Wake up twenty years from now as some sort of godforsaken mass murderer? What would her mother say?

Dimly, she was aware of Finnegan ranting about something or other. Something about pictures and the cold. She didn't know, she wasn't paying attention. All she knew was that she was turning into a monster and oh hell those lights the regulators are coming for us hurry and hide quick quick quick they're coming

Skylar's brother was laughing now, a careless, wild sound that the storm did little to smother—was this boy crazy? That laughing was—

Wonderful, gorgeous, free, her heart whispered.

Dangerous, reckless, stupid, she corrected.

The lights, diluted as they were with the falling sheets of rain, were nonetheless growing brighter. There was little time to spare. With only the briefest of hesitations, Ginny grabbed Finnegan's arm (Dear lord, I'm touching him again) and began to drag him over towards her usual hiding place underneath the rocky outcrop. Hopefully she'd find her Pop Tarts there. And even if she didn't, it'd give them a place to wait out the coming storm. Both figuratively, and literally.






'Cuz when the sky crumbles down and volcanoes blow
Sometimes you just gotta smile and let it go


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Virginia Hearst Character Portrait: Finnigan Everett Character Portrait: Caroline Louise Makota

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❝ Virginia Hearst ❞




Pretty pale plastic, shiny shallow shell
Don't do nothing drastic, don't make your life a hell
Smile and wave, smile and wave, flawless strategy
But he knows you know I know it's just an empty eulogy





Skylar's brother heaved a sigh, breathless and relieved and colored with something almost like amusement. "Now, that was crazy. You've got good intuition, I didn't even notice how close they were."

Ginny cast him a wry glance. Intuition? More like paranoia. But of course, he wouldn't know, would he? Wouldn't know how everything affected her—the shriveled, unforgiving gaze of the public's eye that seared her dry. Wouldn't know how she would gather wisps of poetry from her heart, swollen with disease; how poisonous words would spill from her hands on her weaker days, pouring out like a horrible, lurid flood. Then again, that was the point. He wasn't supposed to know. No one was.

(Sometimes, Ginny really hated Skylar Everett.)

No matter. The boy probably didn't mean anything by it. It was, to him, a harmless statement. A compliment. A peace offering. So Ginny only nodded and turned her attention back to their surroundings. Her eyes scanned the rocks, searching, searching for—

There. A flash of white. Ghostly plastic. Anomaly of soft wrinkles cradled in the belly of a jagged cave.

The Pop Tarts.

Ginny almost pounced on the darned things, but managed to restrain herself. She shuffled over as primly as she could while clad in thick unwieldy rain boots, then leaned over and scooped it up with one—careful, delicate, controlled—sweep of her arm. The plastic bag was slick with frosty condensation; nonetheless, she clutched at it with the desperate relief of a dying thing. The lumpy tangle of worry in Ginny's stomach loosened, and she allowed herself a slow exhale of relief. Up until then, the world had been frozen in a state of nightmarish chaos. She'd disobeyed her mother, snuck out of her house, broken curfew, held hands with a boy. But it was worth it. If only for these fiendish pastries, it was worth it. The world sighed, thawed out and continued to spin. Life went on.

…And promptly shuddered back to a halt when out of nowhere, Finnegan Everett grabbed her hand and placed. It. On. His. Chest.

On his thrice-damned chest.

It was so very sudden and so very wrong that she almost dropped her Pop Tarts. Thankfully, she had the soundness of mind not to. On the other hand, what the heck was she supposed to do now? Her frantic mind raced, furiously reviewing years of conservative Portland schooling. No one had ever taught her what to do in this situation. What was the appropriate way to deal with…with this? It wasn't like they taught this at school. Unless she somehow missed some crucial portion of the curriculum? "Alright, class, today we're going to discuss what you should do if you're ever ambushed by an insane overly-affectionate stranger at night while sneaking out after curfew to find a bag of misplaced Pop Tarts. We'll go over procedure, emergency protocol, and subsequent therapy. Any questions?"

…Granted, Skylar's brother wasn't a total stranger. He was, well, Skylar's brother. But it didn't change the fact that she barely knew him and he was—oh gawd, he'd placed his other hand on top of hers while she was preoccupied. Hello there, Skylar's brother. Go right ahead, Skylar's brother, I don't mind. Might we hug each other and cuddle up as well? Perhaps we'll dance out into the storm, ride off together into the stormy sunset on the backs of dolphins? Sure thing, Skylar's brother, just remind me to grab my one-way ticket to hell while we're at it.

Staring into the unsettling, earnest eyes of Finnegan Everett, Ginny had no idea what to do. But she had to do something. Each second that crawled by dragged the situation into a deeper pit of awkwardness.

In the end, she did what was most instinctual for her after years of deception: she smiled at Skylar's brother and pretended there was nothing wrong. And if her smile was a bit…artificial, well then—she was stressed, alright?

"Hello?"

Ginny's pleasant expression didn't change in the slightest, but she nonetheless felt a jolt of fear. Regulator was her first thought. It didn't matter that the unfamiliar voice was high and scared and feminine—that could be some sort of ploy to lure out curfew-breaking stragglers. No, she and Skylar's brother were going to stay right here. Better safe than sorry.

But then the voice cried out again and Ginny felt a sliver of doubt. What if this person wasn't a Regulator? What if someone actually needed help? What if the actual Regulators heard the fearful cry? The Regulators would be drawn to their location like vultures to carrion. The person would be caught, and the Regulators would sweep the area based on the logic that, where one rat was, there were bound to be more lurking about in the area. She and Skylar's brother would be found. She and Skylar's brother would be ruined. Immediately scheduled for the Cure, and subject to public scandal. And while she was relatively unconcerned about the Cure, her reputation was another matter entirely. Because more than anything else, Ginny hated disappointing people.

With a gentleness belying her inner turmoil, she removed her hand from Finnegan's grasp. Then—slowly, cautiously—she crept outside their rocky shelter. Peering over the hedge of muddy stone, Ginny could just barely make out the figure of a person. In the middle of a storm. With no cover. A sitting duck.

What kind of idiot—

"I'm sorry. I'll be right back."

Ginny dropped her Pop Tarts and tore out of the cave, fear lending wings to her clumsy feet. She reached the person in a whirl of ragged gasps and backwards glances. Upon closer inspection, the huddled figure turned out to be a miserable-looking, rain-soaked girl.

"Get up," Ginny hissed under her breath, eyes sharp and fearful and darting. "Be quiet—come on—they'll find us—"

Gracelessly, she attempted to tug the girl to her feet. Once the girl had gotten up, Ginny began to scamper backwards, calling behind her as she did so. "Over here—there's shelter—hurry, please—"

Fear and adrenaline were doing terrible things to her breathing and control. By the time she made her way back to the outcropping, her unflappable mask was starting to crack. It was with wide eyes and flushed cheeks that she returned, beckoning the strange girl with her into the dank alcove.






It's raining cats and dogs, my friend, and no one knows when it will end


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Virginia Hearst Character Portrait: Finnigan Everett Character Portrait: Caroline Louise Makota

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❝ Virginia Hearst ❞




Snake eyes, in my head
Forked lies, dripping red





Three teenagers, of varying genders, huddled together in a cave. In the rain. After curfew.

Ginny looked from face to grimy face. Girl to boy. Stranger to almost-stranger. She looked at the drab little shelter, at the angry strokes of lightning, at the pitiful scrap of plastic at her feet.

The Pop Tarts were probably dead by now.

Vaguely, she wondered if she should cry. Her grandfather used to say that it made one feel better—called it "having a good cry." From a purely scientific standpoint, Ginny supposed it made sense. Crying released leucine-enkephalin. An endorphin. At least, that's what the school textbook said. Then again, the school textbook had also said that it was a common symptom of deliria—a sign of heart sickness, of emotional breakdown.

Still, Ginny wondered. It'd been a while since she let herself cry.

And then Skylar's brother suddenly flipped into paranoid-mode, and Ginny decided that she just didn't have time at the moment for silly things like crying. Once again, she reached for a neutral expression. Eventually, her breathing steadied, and the flush fell from her cheeks.

“Who are you?" Skylar's brother demanded, grabbing the strange girl by the wrist. "Are you some kind of Regulator-in-disguise? A snitch? A rat? Speak up, lady–”

"Obviously I'm a spy," the strange girl snapped back, apparently irritated with the relentless interrogation. "They're recruiting fifteen year old girls these days, haven't you heard?" She tore her hand away, glowering.

Ginny peered at Skylar's brother with something akin to curiosity—in all the time she'd known him, he'd never struck her as the suspicious type. Then again, he did nearly assault her when she collided into him earlier.

Hmm. Speaking of, she should probably apologize for that.

But anyway; back to the present.

She examined the girl, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in her figure. The girl was tall. Dark eyes and hair. Pointed face. Overall normal appearance, and yet…something bothered Ginny. Nagged at the back of her mind like a frantic, insistent flea.

"His concern is valid," Ginny said finally, voice as blank as her expression. "What are you doing here?"

The girl closed her eyes. "Look, I'm just lost. That's all. Thanks for the help—honestly, I really appreciate it—but I need to find my family."

With that, the girl turned to leave. And it was then that Ginny realized what was bothering her.

The girl was unfamiliar. Unfamiliar.

Ginny never forgot a face.

A million things flashed through her mind at once; almost in reflex, her hand snapped out, closing around the rubbery arm of the girl's coat to prevent her from leaving. The girl turned around again, something like surprise flitting across her face, before it melted into exasperation. She opened her mouth to speak—probably in some sort protest—but Ginny beat her to it.

"I don't recognize you. Where are you from?"

Her tone was conversational, masking the acceleration of her heartbeat. For Ginny could think of two immediate scenarios.

Scenario 1—the girl was telling the truth, but the moment she left she'd get caught by regulators, thus leading them to Ginny and Finnegan's position.

Scenario 2—Skylar's brother was right, and the moment the girl left she'd be heading out to rat on them.

Neither situation was acceptable.

The girl had to stay.

Unfortunately for Ginny and Finnegan, it seemed that the girl had other plans. Ginny wasn't exactly the athletic type, you see, and the strange girl had the advantage in height and strength. Before Ginny could fully comprehend what was happening, the unknown girl had muscled her way out of her grip and was dashing across the beach all full speed.





Won't you look, dear, at my credentials?
Well it's just a faceless figurehead
I've forgotten all those small essentials
In chasing scraps of gingerbread