we'll go for the classic dynamic duo of the scoundrel and scientist, since they're the two OCs y'all are most familiar with lol
Future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?
The Scoundrel has a wide range of things that could all arguably be considered "worst possible futures", because they're just. They're just so very Fun Like Thatâ„¢!!!!
Their original character concept is probably one that stands out the most- a Mr Cards that gets so proverbially high on its own supply it tries to climb up the chain and become a Judgement. As time has gone on and I've gotten more familiar with their character (and further into the game as a whole), they've drifted pretty far away from this idea, but it still remains a not-insignificant possibility. Especially with Terry encouraging their latent god complex at every possible opportunity.
Besides that, pretty much any future where they carelessly throw away their humanity is a "bad future"... such as the future they're hurtling towards right now. No matter how much they refuse to admit or acknowledge this.
The Scientist on the other hand. Well.
He's doomed for a reason, to say the least. His worst future is a pretty open and shut case of that epithet coming to fruition, in every sense of the imagination.
As for fighting or even simply avoiding it, well...
...why would he ever want to?
He's entirely aware of what it is. And what it will do. He's actively working towards it. He's actively living for it.
Why avoid something when it's what you've pursued from the very start?
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Hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?
The Scoundrel likes to think they're great at hiding how much they're weak to human emotions and follies.
They aren't. They really, really aren't.
In terms of ACTUAL secrets, as thoroughly demonstrated in the cufflink incident, they really don't want to be linked to the Yearner. To the point where they'll do almost everything to make sure nobody even learns of her existence.
Naturally, this led to pretty much their entire friend group finding out about their backstory in rapid and indiscriminate succession. Because the Scoundrel's life is secretly a tragicomedy.
The Scientist on the other hand... doesn't really have much to hide, in the traditional sense of the word? It's not that he's particularly honest insomuch as he doesn't care about people knowing his secrets. He'll hide them, yes, but if they get found he's not going to be particularly bothered about it. At most, he'll begrudgingly sigh and move on with his life.
That being said, he would prefer if his involvement in the creation of The False Yearner stays secret.
Not because it's shameful or anything. He just really, really, really doesn't want to unpack that suitcase in front of the Scoundrel.
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There are days when I want to fall, spiraling through the air. Days when I want to see what the world looks like flying by. How the colours mix and blend together, becoming oceans of greens, blues, greys, yellows that crash over me and pull me under. Days when I want to know what it feels like to lose hope. To fall fast and hard towards the ground, knowing that it's too late to turn back and save it for another day. Because in those moments, you live. You become aware of how vicious the winds are as they bite your face. How useless your limbs are as they relax at your side. How ready your body is to give up and how accepting your mind is of the end. Those are the days when I stumble too close to the edge, but somebody always throws their arm out and grabs me. Saves me, and tells me that it was a close one. But not close enough. One day, I will kick a rock off the side of a cliff by myself, and the way it disappears will be all too tempting. One day, I will leap.
Hang your head child, you should be ashamed of yourself. Your father was right to walk out on you at such a young age. You have amounted to nothing but a weak, pathetic coward. Why do you possess such little willpower? The trigger is just beyond your index finger, the cylinder fully loaded. All you have to do is close your eyes, apply pressure, and then you can escape this life of monotony and solitude. It is not a hard concept to grasp, the firing of the gun, that is. It is so simple, an infant can do it.
But you, at twenty-seven years of age with a rotten log beneath your ass and an open clearing surrounding you, cannot.
The way the moonlight hugs the revolver as it lays atop your dresser and the thought of dying has kept you awake at night. Your mattress tells the story of a human throughout the years, holding the weight of the world in their hands. Many times, you have held the gun to your temple and closed your eyes, waiting for that pain to hit you. And just as many, you have lowered it again. You wonder what your mother would do if she walked in seconds before you pulled the trigger. Would she bury you, and wish she would have been intrusive earlier? Or would she be your saving grace, and in later years, wish she simply walked past your door?
These are the questions that have haunted you, but you are alone now. What will your excuse be this time?
Store the gun in the hollow of the tree trunk and head back home. You are spineless, gutless. Tell your mother that your father made the smart decision in abandoning you. That you really will become nothing but a scrap who cannot even commit an act that would make so many people happy. The world turned its back on you a long time ago, but go ahead, try to find a reason to stick around. Do not be surprised if such a reason does not exist.
Or you can carry out the alternative. Ignore the thoughts that so desperately long to press against the muzzle, open your mouth, and swallow the bullet. Let the sound of the shot echo throughout the woods as your sweetest swan song, allowing the ravens that have stared at you for the past two hours to take flight. And in the second that it takes for the hammer to strike the firing pin, sealing your fate, only one thought will escape: "Nobody would ever miss me."
