This is really interesting so far!

Is it okay if I change my packing list to include an N-95 mask too?

@Poinsettia, yes, you can add an N-95 to your list, but please don't change anything once your intro is posted.

@Amethyst, we're glad you like it! One of us also wears a N-95. 

Signed,

The Pigeon Who Has Run Out Of Cooler Names

Are you Rora?

can i still join?

No, neither of us is Rora.

@Luna Silvermoon: regrettably, we only had 11 slots avaliable and they have been filled. We are not going to add more, as it is reasonably hard to kill that many people (have you ever tried? Hopefully not). However, you are welcome to follow along and comment as we go.

Signed,

(°V°)

Ah, hello there! It's been a while, sorry, but I love my intro and this is cool so far :)

As for guesses, are either of you Pointsettia?

TOP

We're glad you liked it, Peri! Neither of us is Poinsettia. Everyone, thank you for guessing and keep it up! One of us is surprised they have not been guessed yet, and the other one of us is hiding in the shadowy certainty that they rarely post.

@Very-Demanding-Searcher: don't be alarmed if there are large pauses in-between parts, as they take a while to write. Additionally, this ski lodge is run by two CBers, so it's hard for us to make *evil plans* during school holidays (such as Thanksgiving Break) because we don't have a chance to meet, so it may be put on hold for the duration of said holidays. During times like these, faithful topping would be amazing (good job so far lol). However, we are actively plotting murder and will be back to it shortly—in a few days. Thank you for your patience and we commend you for your enthusiastic enthusiasm~

Signed,

The Very-Flustered-and-Slightly-Late-Yet-Masterfully-Evil-Minded-and-Morbid-Pigeon-Procrastinator-Who-Is-Currently-On-Break

are you Jaybells & Jwyn, perhaps?

Sorry Artemis, neither of us is Jaybells or Jwyn. It's not known we know each other, as far as we know. And apologies everyone for the pause (and any future ones as well). *random and very lame excuses that are probably not true* 

Also, we should probably say this sooner rather than later, but we will make fun of you. We will write you in less-than-flattering ways, and purposely misinterpret what you have written in your form—or elsewhere. If something is deeply offensive or triggering, please tell us immediately. It's probably intentional—er, unintentional.

Also times two, we are planning plot, and our current ending might be slightly gory (slight bits of canabalism, anyone?). It fits the plot well, and it's not a full-blown scene, more like small details, but if it is too gruesome for you, PLEASE SPEAK UP NOW and we can change it. 

Here's Sterling's intro. 

._.

Filling out the form costs Sterling most of their precious brain cells they have left—they can never think this early in the morning. Yawning, they try to brush the tangles out of their long white hair, finally giving up to stare blearily into their bathroom mirror, daydreaming…

They see a lithe, androgynous mirror-figure with the air of mist (the kind that clings to clothing and makes everything clammy) and music (the kind that is way too loud and gives you a throbbing headache), and eyes that shine like ruff-cut and un-polished jewels crusted with little balls of morning gunk, with hair as flowing and light as water—a very tangled waterfall, maybe one with with lots of dead vines across the rapids—that falls over their slumped shoulders. The mirror-person is all grace, beauty, bed hair, and tired imagination—why, it’s almost as if they’re asleep… drifting in and out of reality…

Huh? Sterling wakes with a start. They’re slumped over their bathroom counter, a little puddle of drool pocketing near their chin. They hastily wipe that away, embarrassed, then turn to get ready. They pack some spare clothes and essentials, too many books piled haphazardly in a stack (if the concept of too many books even exists, that’s a debatable question), a sketchbook and watercolors, tea (already brewed and in a mug, rapidly cooling off because Sterling is forgetting to drink it), and a polished rapier that Sterling handles with care, not quite trusting themselves to not stab anything (it is early, after all).

This done, they turn to the pigeon impatiently waiting at the window, who clacks its beak in alarm as Sterling trips and their rapier goes flying, nearly skewering the pigeon. Sterling rushes to gather everything up as the pigeon eyes them haughtily from its beady black eyes.

This done, Sterling and the pigeon go outside. The pigeon spins in a circle. Sterling stares at it blankly. It repeats the action. Sterling sighs and copies it, spinning in a circle then glaring at the pigeon. It motions its wing, telling them to do it again.

They comply, spinning in circles until they’re dizzy and nauseous. They stagger and fall over, waiting for the impact that comes softly, landing them on moist perfumey soil so different from the grass they left. 

._.

Signed,

The Canabalistic—erm, the Catalistic—erm, the Camalistic—yep, that's it! Pigeon.