Sunken Batavia

[UrsaTempest]

It smells in here.

Your head hurt. Half of your face is wet. Your nose sucks in air and quickly wilts, at the sweet and sour and alcoholic smells that assault your innocent organ. Bile rises from your throat, your jaw automatically clenches and you hold on your groan, because puking while you're still vertical sounds like an amazingly bad idea.

First thing first: eyes. You need to open them. So you do, and instantly regret it. Light pierces through your skull, sending jolt of pain at the back of your eyes. You put your hand over your eyes, groans, and pushes yourself on the floor. It's sticky. Your hand is sticky.

Headache abated, you opens your eyes, and still regret it. This room is a mess. The walls are stained yellow. The curtain is fallen apart. There's a big pile of empty, plastic bottles on the bed, in multitude of shapes. You take a deep breath, winces at the smell, and leans against the nearby wall, your naked breasts moves slowly in time with your breath. The kitchen portion is only slightly better - wrapping papers, rotten banana leaves, smoldering bones. A portable induction burner sit on the table, untouched and unplugged.

You tentatively take one of the bottle. It's still quarter-filled; a white, milky liquid inside. You unscrew the blue cap, take a smell, and hit with the sweet and sour scent of tuak. With little thought, you take a swig and exhales. Fuck. It's too sweet. Not done fermenting.

You wipes your face, the wet half - it's slimy and disgusting and you try very hard not to touch your hair, because it'll be a pain to clean. Instead, you ambled to the bathroom. It's only separated by a curtain, so you move it away and-

... it's clean, surprisingly. Blue tiles, white paint; a small sink with mirror, a toilet, a cistern under one of the faucet. The other faucet is closer to the door, beside the sink - no doubt for prayer purpose.

There's a card on sink. You snatches it, it's blue. A national ID card.

A male national ID card? You looked at it, unsure. "Agung Sri Wahono?" you says the name. Your voice is scratchy, but not too bad. It's familiar, yet don't belong to you. Whoever he is, he was born in twenty-twenty. What does that year signify? Something unpleasant, you think. And what's current year anyway? And what do you know? What do you not know?

More than you should.

You stare at the mirror. You look... well, about what's expected, really. You'll get decent chance to win audition for being Japanese horror monster.

So, first: time to dress-up.

What do you find?

[ ] A set of school uniform: There were white, and spotless, once. Now they're stained and smell strongly of alcohol. The skirt is long, to the ankle, but quite roomy.
[ ] A set of bureaucrat uniform: Tanned, starched, with mystifying symbol of government woven on the breast pocket. It has a lot more crease, now. And will need thorough wash. But it does have pocket, including on the skirt.
[ ] A set of bunny suit: Black. Shiny. With ears. Do you really want to wear this? Are you sure? You'll looks just like deranged serial killer, you know.

Outside, between the sound of wave crashing, you hear a faint step, walking toward your place.

 

[UrsaTempest]

You find several articles of clothing, but somehow, somehow, only the bunny outfit is clean. How? More importantly, why does a bunny outfit is here? What kind of people keep bunny outfit in their room? Was it you? Or someone else?

You start with leotard. It feels kind of strange - the movement at once familiar and alien, at having the piece of clothing touches your skin and cups your breasts, at setting aside your long hair to zip it up. The stocking is relatively straightforward, though you're surprised at the material - it's not at all delicate, and much stronger than you think. Definitely better than you think.

The cuffs, gloves, and bunny ears itself is pretty straightforward. You slip on a pair of black, short heels, and spend a minute or two just walking on the wrecked room. It's easier than it looks.

You glances at the mirror, at your visage, with the bunny ears, naked shoulders, and a hint of cleavages. What do you think?

[ ] You pull it off very well. Much better than expected (PRIDE)
[ ] You looks like ghostly serial killer, alright. (ENVY)
[ ] You think some people are definitely into you. (LUST)

There's a knock at the door.

You probably should open it. Do you?

[ ] Yes, open it.
[ ] No, let's hide under the bedframe or in the bathroom or something.
[ ] Actually, let's jump off from the window. You're dying to enjoy beach.

 

[UrsaTempest]

You pull it off quite well, if you say so yourself. It's not the matter how it's skimpy and shows-off your body, or how you stink to high heaven. It's how you manage to exude a confidence. A willingness to believe not only you can be better, you are better.

Or is it?

[ ] [PRIDE 1.1] Yeah! Yeah you do!
[ ] [ENVY 0.9] That's probably rationalization talking.
[ ] [LUST] And that's very hot.

There's a knock at the door, and you instinctively jump to under the bed.

It's not as bad as it seems. Your elbows are covered with dusk, and your midriff are fairly itchy, just like your nose. If you're actual rabbit, your ears surely will move. For some reason, it's spared much of the room's mayhem. And smell.

You held your breath out of tension, not just to prevent dust from entering your lungs. Whoever behind the door knock it four times, then wait, then knock it again four times, then wait. Then there's the sound of key jingling, as the door is pushed forward.

... it's a maid, you think. You can't see it clearly, since you just saw a black shoes and a long, black skirts, that just about not touching the floor. There's a sound like choking, and you pity her. Hopefully it won't be her job- well, if it's not her, it'll be someone else, right? But is it your responsibility when you don't even remember how you come in this room? Too bad you don't have philosopher on speed-dial.

Do you even have phone?

She steps closer, and you can smell... a strong, spice scent. Savory, slightly sweet. And something meaty. Damn. You're hungry now. You watch, as the maid...

[ ] Pushes the pile of empty bottles off the bed, and put the dishes there, and walk out.
[ ] [MOMENTUM] Instead of walking out, she goes to the bathroom.