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@bornfreebogeyman
* GOING INDIE!
Any remaining Citta followers, now is the time to unfollow!

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ENTRY 02. [ getaway car ]
Nighttime in Hive City was lullaby-soft, clear, distinguishable -- in a way that Murphy had at first expected to be a comfort and relief. The sky was visible. The moon hung pale and luminous amongst a collection of unfamiliar constellations, glinting like new jewels, and in Sector 001, the din of the city beneath his high window ebbed to a muffled hum. He could finally put his head down, he thought; he could sleep, work on erasing those dark rings gathering beneath his eyes like so many mourners at a gravesite. Or so he thought.
With his head on the pillow, in the comfort of his bed, he'd be awakened by dreams. The night would seep in through his ears and pool in the holes of his consciousness, filling in the little gaps and recesses with the impermeable gray skies over Silent Hill, glumly smothered with fog, heavy with rainclouds, echoing with hisses and sighs. He'd hear the rumble of thunder, the hard spatter of cold rain, a child's laugh, a murmur, a scream -- and wake with a start in Hive City, back lathered with sweat, menaced only by the shadows of his blinds in the security of his apartment.
Tonight was one such night.
What lay outside the walls of Hive City that was so worth the struggle to achieve? No wife, no home, no life as he had once known it. And though the chance at a new start flickered dimly on the horizon of his hopes, after all that had transpired, it seemed a fool's errand to pursue. Why, then, did his fingers itch for freedom?
His wanderings found him in Sector 003. He could almost feel the chains around his ankles.
Though he had lifted a old gray-green jacket, and made use of the neutral clothing provided, Murphy felt as though his old prison uniform would have been a choice selection for the slums of the Hive. He knew these men. Up and down the blocks of Ryall State Prison, they had been his neighbors and company for the past few years, and where they gathered in groups and clusters on the curbs and sidewalks, Murphy kept his head down and avoided them, rounding corners into straggling back alleys, keeping track of his surroundings with steely glances from the corners of his eyes.
"Yeah, motherfucker. Keep walking."
"Hey! Hey, fuckhead, I'm talkin' to you!"
They jeered and rambled. Now and then he heard shouts and windows breaking, and edged along a new path to avoid the sounds of small riots and brawls. He couldn't say what had brought him here, but he had the feeling that if he could just see enough of the city, map out its walls and pathways, that somehow, someway, he would have to find an escape route, some chink in the metropolitan armor.
And that's when he saw it. Past a chain-link fence dividing a narrow alley, parked alongside a brick building, sat an old truck, its windshield wipers collecting dust against the glass. Murphy cast a look around. He knew how men were about their trucks. He paced the small length of fence until he found a bent depression, where the fence puckered near the post, and slipped underneath. "Old '75 GMC," he murmured, eyeing the faded detailing. He bumped against the door, to test the alarm, and was relieved when none sounded. A hot buzz of options shot through his mind. If he could get himself in a car, he could get around town a hell of a lot faster, and cover more ground in shorter time. On the other hand, he'd be guilty of auto-theft almost immediately after arriving.
He searched for an implement. Nearby, a disregarded crowbar sat amongst a few broken crates and a busted TV. A little clunky, not very discrete -- not like a Slim Jim -- but it'd have to do. Running his fingers along the dusty window-lining, Murphy poised the crowbar against the small crack of the door, and prepared to pry it open.
biography page added.
[ spoil sh: downpour at your own risk. ]
bornfreeboogeyman --> bornfreebogeyman
I can't believe it took me that long to catch a url typo. So embarrassing.

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silentpyramidhead started following you
♫
Teeth In The Grass / Iron & Wine
And when you give me your clothes,And when we're lovers at last,Fresh air, perfume in your nose,There will be teeth in the grass.
A hush-toned, nihilistic little number, eerie in its relaxed and accepting rhythm yet absurdist wording. Some argue that the reference of 'teeth in the grass' is a metaphor for tombstones, others a reference to a german saying 'to bite into the grass' (meaning, to die) -- one way or another, the message seems clear. A strange, unsettling but catchy piece, which neatly sums up a good deal of Murphy's mentality.
♫ !!
My Hero / Foo Fighters
There goes my hero; watch him as he goes.There goes my hero; he's ordinary.
With a perseverant beat and dogged, come-what-may lyrics, My Hero maintains vaguely paternal undertones in its tribute to, or perhaps farewell to, an unnamed everyman's hero. It suits Murphy's counter-intuitive protagonist role, a common man whose motives are so relatable, yet whose circumstance and choices have perverted him into a criminal. Throughout his escapades through Silent Hill, and his own personally motivated hell, he maintains the role of a steadfast, if tortured hero, pushing ever forward -- how long that heroism can last, however, is another story.
Music themed meme!
Send a ♫ to me and I’ll post a song that I think fits with my character in some way! It can be related to their history, what sort of person they are, headcanons I might have for them - whatever! I’ll tell you why the song fits!
Ask the character/mun: Ask the muse whatever you want for them to answer IC; or ask the mun a personal question to get to know better or to get an OOC answer [although we would like to keep these at a minimum]!
Truth/Dare: Be reasonable with the dares! If you start getting ridiculous no one will want to do them; characters aren’t really obligated to do all the dares they receive. Don’t forget about the truth part as well!
Headcanon: Anons send the character a word, or a name and you may write a small/long headcanon about said word!
Drabbles: Give the muse a prompt and they may write a short drabble on it.

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This doesn't really have anything to do with anything, but since it's meme sunday and everyone's horsing around, enjoy some super manly Murphy noises.
Ever been in love?
"Yeah."
What would you do if the city was suddenly overrun by zombies?
"I could handle it."
Murphy is a survivor of Silent Hill, after all. And after personal experiences with gruesome monsters, flesh-eating voids, and inner demons made incarnate, he knows a thing or two about protecting himself against steep odds.
Almost anything can become a weapon if you use it right.
Do you have any friends here?
"No. But I don't have many friends anywhere, anymore."
"Look, I'm not exactly a social butterfly. Prison wasn't the best place to practice making friends. But the guys here are... better than other places.
Doc Lector and Rudy Schmidt seem alright..."
What do you regret most in your life?
Do you know the rhyme? It keeps the boogeyman away. The sound of a child's laughter, playful footsteps receding into the distance, a silent lake glazed with sun, a bicycle on its side. Murphy's mind swam in the mire of its guilt.
"Carol only ever asked one thing of me. To be a good father to our son. Charlie ... Oh God, Charlie, I should have never let you out of my sight."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God forgive me, I ..."
"I regret not killing that son of a bitch."

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Send me a ♦ for an unsent text.
Send me a ♥ for a heart felt confession.
Send me a ♯ for what my muse finds attractive about yours.
Send me a ♫ for what my muse thinks of yours.
Send me a ✉ for a morning after note on your pillow
Send me a ♚ for a hug.
[ received one anonymous ask and i'm already like
/ded ]