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 Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:03 pm
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:04 pm
One by one the last of the mirrors shatter. All that remains are a handful of puppets, and a handful more scattered on the ground, lifeless. Lifeless, just for a moment longer before they click, and slowly, string by puppet string, they rise, and take life again. They cannot die because this is a game. They cannot die because they cannot wake up from the dream.
The White Queen is fading. Fragments of her melt into the smooth black surface of the floor. The light around everything begins to dim. She is fading and yet, the dream does not end. Instead, she draws you closer. Long, white thorn-covered vines extend around you at all sides. They extend and curl up, branching sideways to form ornate flowers and leaves as they complete themselves in a crude circle. They form a cage.
You are trapped within.
"This is the end of your legacy." As she spoke, her voice rang a little too long, a little too strong. Bits and pieces of you begin to fade. She has taken you. She is consuming you. "This is the rebirth of Grief. I will take your essence, your memories and make them mine. You will stay. I will stay." The cage grows smaller and so do you.
"You will stay," she repeats herself, and now her presence is overwhelming. You feel dark tendrils claw at you, drag you towards her. You hear her speak, and it overrides your thoughts. A great sadness consumes you. You feel a strange defeat. "You will stay in this cage. Your existence, your memories, will contain my Grief."
Panic settles in for the last time. Your existence is dwindling. If this was a death it is slow and merciful. Perhaps it is better to die without ever realizing so.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:05 pm
Snap.
The cage opens, it shatters into white fragments again. Immediately you regain yourself, pulling yourself apart, away. Immediately you remember, and you are aware. Immediately you realize how close you were to not existing at all.
Behind the White Queen is a door.
The door opens, slowly. The ground shakes. Footsteps. An army.
And then they appear, puppets, hundreds of puppets dressed in colourful wear, wielding weapons, faces seemingly animated and alive. They are familiar, dressed as your friends, dressed as allies and enemies, and they surge forward into the remains of the cage, surrounding the White Queen.
Confusion lasts only a second, and you are about to say something when one of the puppets from the door grabs your hands.
This puppet is you, perfectly replicated and complete.
"I know everything," the replica says to you, in a way you find painfully familiar "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container." Each replica easily finds their original. The words exchanged are brief.
"Thank you," says your replica, at last. If there is uncertainty, it is only yours. They take out their weapon, a perfect identical copy of your weapon, "and goodbye."
The weapon slices neatly into you but there is no pain. You are only a puppet. You only have a fleeting moment before you disappear. You do not reappear again.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:37 pm
 [ YOU ARE THE REPLICA ]
You are the replica. You watch remorselessly as you tear into your original. The cut is final, you make sure they are gone before pulling your weapon out. You move forwards to face the White Queen.
The memories begin to flow now. The first thing you remember is a voice. It greets you, before you understand what the words mean. You were still empty back then.
"In dreams, new memories are created," the voice speaks, unfamiliar. You cannot see. You do not understand sight. "You are these new memories, the container for the old. You were created just like me. Perfect containers, one day to be used and then discarded. It is okay to be a toy, we are all toys here. We all exist, just pieces of us, just barely enough. We are the sacrifice."
And that was how you began, a container for memories, born inside this dream. The memories of your creation, the same as your original, slowly unfurl. Happy ones, sad ones, angry memories, memories of faces you will never meet and a future you will not quite understand. Those memories flow freely now, and so do the emotions tied to your original. A sadness. A pain. A peace, perhaps. But you are a replica of your original. You were a container created to save your original and you were created to die for them. That is your only purpose, the memories that filled you a sacrifice. You are your original but they are not you.
The White Queen faces you, and the cage once again completes itself. The door you arrived from has disappeared.
"This is the end of your legacy." As she spoke, her voice rang a little too long, a little too strong. Bits and pieces of you begin to fade. She has taken you. She is consuming you. "This is the rebirth of Grief. I will take your essence, your memories and make them mine. You will stay. I will stay." The cage grows smaller and so do you.
Panic settles in for the first and last time. Your very existence is dwindling. If this was a death it is slow and merciful. Perhaps it is better to die without ever realizing so. Perhaps it is better to exist without ever having existed.
The cage forms itself complete, the dream, your part in the dream, has run its course. The only thing that remains is Grief.
OOC At this point all KO'ed characters in round 2 are revived (before the first of the events happen). You will write TWO POSTS for the conclusion. [ POST 1 ]: The first post is your reaction as YOUR CHARACTER, your actual character, and them being consumed by Grief only to be interrupted as the door opens, and your replica arrives to speak to you briefly. Feel free to write a brief interaction of what your character would say to yourself (as you want to word it really, since its really... you talking to your dream (replica) self). This only lasts a quick moment before your copy kills you. Write a reaction as you need as you die. And then write your death. This is your DEATH SOLO. [ POST 2 ]: On your second post label it at the top in bold red [ REPLICA VERSION: ]You are now the replica, having just witnessed your original die (or really, having killed them). But you know they will be safe. You have securely taken their place. You were created as a sacrifice. You contain all the memories of your original, perfect, complete memories, strong enough to cage the White Queen. And with those memories become emotions, a sadness perhaps, an anger, a resentment, so many emotions play out and yet you cannot defy your orders, not even if you wished it. They override everything else. You stay as the White Queen begins to consume you and you can do nothing about it. More memories unfold, those of your original. You briefly wonder what it means to live. You briefly wonder what it means to die having never experienced it yourself. You stay as the last of your memories is torn away, as you become nothing and as you remain conscious one last time. Your existence is short and brief. This was your purpose: to be the perfect artificial copy made of dreams and memories, and to be the perfect sacrifice. [ WRAP UP POST ]: A wrap up will be posted at 8:00 PM PST TOMORROW marking the OFFICIAL END OF THE EVENT. This thread will be open for all reaction posts and death solos (plural) for the rest of the week until the 8th! [ OLD POSTS ]: If you have not completed or rolled your old posts yet, you may still do so, just label them clearly at the top of your post (ROUND 1 or ROUND 2 ). Round 1 is on page 2, round 2 is on page 21.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:55 pm
POST 1 - IAN RAHAL-NAZARI
He could feel it coming.
The feeling pulled into him and pulled out of him, and the Grief overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. A terrible feeling, Ian thought, especially considering his dislike of water, because that's what it felt like - drowning without the water, as though his lungs were expanding and not getting any air, as though he kept trying to push his face above the surface only to be crushed back down into the icy depths of chaos again.
He stretched out his fingers - maybe, if he could reach far enough, he'd be able to get to Shiloh, to Quinn, to Finn, Ripley, Oliver, anyone that he had been with before and everyone that he wanted to get back to now -
- Nevada, but she wasn't here, she would never be here because he couldn't protect her -
- but there were too many people and too many voices and too much Grief to even think properly. It was surging over him, and he wanted to breathe, wanted to say something, anything at all -
Maybe "I'm sorry" would be enough -
The door opened, and light spilled towards him. Some of the pressure alleviated and some of the Grief lifted, though it still weighed on him like a physical weight bearing on his shoulders. Ian squinted in the brightness and then he could see all of them coming towards him, dozens of them, hundreds of them - there were familiar faces, and he caught sight of one or two that he tried to reach out and grab -
(they were still too far away)
- and then cold fingers had closed around his wrist in a grip that was tight and firm like iron but not so tight it was painful. Ian twisted, trying to get away, without actually looking at what had taken ahold of him because he was still too busy trying to get away, trying to get back to Shiloh, to everyone, to be with them -
(Loneliness crushed his chest; had they all forgotten him now?)
- but then he turned and he could see someone - himself - standing in front of him, and for a moment he couldn't remember how to breathe properly (was he even really breathing anymore in the first place?) and the him that stood in front of him looked tired, so very tired.
"I know everything," he said, and Ian wavered where he stood, swaying slightly though there was no breeze and no reason. He wondered if he would get a chance to say goodbye before the finale came, before he would be laid to rest in an unmarked grave with dirt over his head and patches of grass above his body.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry "I'm sorry" isn't enough.
The him in front of him just smiles, and it's not a happy smile, but it's not a sad smile either; it's something in between, a mix of both, and it's familiar to Ian, so familiar that it makes his chest ache with emotion and all he wants to do is for this to be over in one way or another.
"Don't worry," he says, and the knives are poised and ready, two in each hand; his arms are crisscrossed over each other, positioned at either side of Ian's neck, and the same gentle smile is still on his face as cold fingers grip the handles of the knives.
"It'll be okay."
Ian closes his eyes.
The blades cut through the air in one clean swipe.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 8:56 pm
POST 2 - REPLICA [_RUFFIAN_]
It was a strange thing to watch himself die, but it wasn't really him was it?
He took the knives and examined them carefully as though looking for fractures or splinters before tucking them away again, safely, in a gust of white and light. He glanced around - the others were still at work - and then looked back at the space where he once stood before he had disappeared, before the knives had cut through him as cleanly as though cutting through water or air. There was nothing left now, nothing but an empty space, and it was a good thing, perhaps, because he has taken the place of the one living.
He touched his chest as though feeling for the memories contained within, and flashes of them pass across his vision, almost like a loop.
Pale blonde hair tossed messily over one shoulder, a teasing smile as she leans close - close enough that you can smell the strawberry of her lip balm and the spritz of perfume she dabbed onto her neck. She's leaning against you, her face against your neck, and you can feel the laughter all the way down your spine and back up again. You kiss her forehead affectionately, and she giggles like a little girl, touching your face.
"I've missed you," she says, and you don't have time to respond.
Another one.
"I wish you would stop arguing about this."
Your father sits across from you, behind the smooth mahogany wood of his desk (in perfect condition, of course, with everything arranged so carefully and so neatly that it's no wonder he doesn't approve of your artfully torn jeans and plain black teeshirt, or the tattoos peeking out from beneath the bracelets on your wrists).
You're only half paying attention to what he says.
"I'm bored. Can we have this discussion later? Since I know we've already had it at least thirty times before," you say, and the look on your father's face is mutinous, furious, before it dissipates.
One more, this one quieter, gentler. The mood shifts, and he can almost feel the tangible emotion in the air. Maybe if he stretches out his fingers, he can touch it - or maybe, if he tries hard enough, he'll be able to truly understand the memories contained within himself.
"I love you," he says, and the words hit you so hard it's like being struck by lightning. How can anyone possibly love you, you wonder. It's not possible; you're just not worth that much, you can't possibly be worth that much adoration and affection, and yet he sits here and he tells you these things and it feels so strange and surreal that it's difficult to even figure out where to start deciphering the good from the bad, the happy from the sad.
“I think I love you, Ian.”
He wants to say it back - wants to so badly it's a physical ache -
But he can't.
The memories shift and fade until they're gone, back to being just memories. He can feel himself beginning to disappear, beginning to shift away into nothingness, and a part of him, the part that stems from him knows that he's done this for good, for the better part of himself that is no longer here.
He's dying, but it's a good thing.
He's disappearing, but he is safe.
I'll say them for you, he thinks, and closes his eyes, though there's not really anything to close anymore. I'll say them for you because you can't say them yet, though one day, hopefully, you can.
The words are whispered, three simple words, before he disappears.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:02 pm
The White Queen was shifting in her appearance. Shun took a step back, holding up his blades. Then, narrowing his good eye, he started to make his move. There was a problem though. He felt weak. He was fading. She had already taken a hold on him and was ready to bring her down into whatever hell she was making here. He struggled, feebly, but there was no point to it. With each move, he could feel less and less of himself.
It wasn't like death in the way that he had experienced before. It was more like he was just slowly ceasing to exist. Fading away.
That all stopped abruptly as a door opened up, cutting off Grief's attempts to consume him. Squinting into the light, he backed up as he could see his replica approaching him. It looked like him. It moved like him. For all intensive purposes, it was him.
But it wasn't all the same.
"Stay back," he hissed while raising his blades. The false-Shun took out a pair of identical daggers to his own.
"No. You will not take me. Not without a fight," he all but snarled as he lunged at the replica. His double knew what to expect. It was created from his memories and thoughts. It knew how he would move, how to react. It dodged the initial strike. That didn't matter to Shun, as he came in with his second blade, aiming to kill. In a fluid motion, the replica parried Shun's attack before slipping its own dagger straight into his chest. His eye widened for the moment. He didn't feel the pain, but he knew.
"No... I can't--"
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:03 pm
The replica watched as Shun vanished into nothingness. It was so like himself to try and go down fighting. Too bad it was a futile attempt. It wasn't until the real version was gone that he straightened up, relaxing. His good eye closed as he let out a breath. It wasn't pretty, but it was a necessity. The first part of his purpose had been fulfilled. Soon, the second will as well. The real version will understand in time.
Or perhaps he won't.
It didn't matter. This was for his sake. And for the loved ones deeply seeded in his memories. The clone placed the daggers away, turning towards the White Queen as she prepared to consume him and all the rest. This was his purpose. He would take it with stride. Dignity.
He could feel himself fading as Grief took him in. Soon there would be nothing left of him, but that was alright. The replica closed his good eye as he waited until he was no more.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:10 pm
Status: Dead
Cause of Death: Recipient of blows exceeding the amount the body is capable of withstanding.
Details of the Event: The Reaper known as Ruth ("fouof"), had listened and observed the ramblings of the figure known as the White Queen (the "Boss") over the course of the passage of time (the "Game"). While in the Game, fouof had witnessed and unintentionally exposed memories from her past to complete strangers (the "Players"). While some Players eventually revealed themselves to be individuals fouof is aware of and acquainted with ("Friends") in Amityville (the "Reality"), this knowledge had only served to lower her guard and confuse her.
As the Game is not occurring within a vacuum, other Players also exhibited signs of seeing these memories. The multitude of mirrors sprouted, and as much as fouof admired the Boss' seemingly effortless way of spreading discord, chaos, fear, and anger, fouof wished to take no part. However, as fouof's desires are irrelevant to the Boss and to many of the other Players, she became subjected to noting Possible Futures ("Lies") that involved her. As well as those other of Players/Friends. She unintentionally caused harm to creeple, but is unable to express her regrets or joy or whatever appropriate emotion is required in such a situation.
As such, fouof determined the best course of action is to simply take the blows until she died. Which she did. Which she had.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Status: Revived and Imprisoned
Details of the Event: fouof reawakened to a long spiel involving Ancients, FEAR, and Grief. The mirrors shatters and the Boss crackled, breaking apart like the shards. Fragments that composed the Boss scatter to form cages for all Players, and fouof finds herself trapped.
fouof is forced to retreat within herself, unable to smile, unable to will herself to obey her training and Superiors' teachings. fouof is curled up on herself, silent as always, and is vaguely aware that she is becoming less and less substantial.
A door opens, but fouof does not look up. Only when hands grab and pull her to her feet did fouof realize who it was that came out of the door. The smile was Cheshire-cat wide, empty and devoid of any intention. No explanations necessary, the Boss had made it all clear.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Status: Dead
Details of the Event: From behind her bangs, fouof closed her eyes, felt the prickle of her throwing stars sinking into her throat deepen. And she is gone.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:13 pm
It was disappointing, really, to be the replica of Ruth. The ghoul had so much baggage, so many issues yet to be dealt with or acknowledged that they even existed. She had parents but did not call them that. They were her Superiors, authority figures, those she obeyed out of duty and obligation and necessity. Pride was rare, practically nonexistent between them, warmth even more so.
The replica remembered moments when she yearned to cry because she truly felt sorrow, when she swallowed her laughter to force a glower, when she could allow herself to react naturally rather than fall back to the scripts and spiels and acceptable faces.
She remembered crying when her acceptance letter to Amityville arrived. She wept in front of her Superiors and her cousins, and they congratulated her with a warmth that could have seemed sincere to an outsider but not to a Paranoia Agent. They were mocking her for locking herself into a dead-end future and for acknowledging this in her tears. Joke's on them. Ruth had cried in happiness.
And the more the replica remembered, the more she realized that the happiest days of her original's life had been the brief year she's been in Amityville. Who would want to be saddled with these memories?
Oh, that's right, she did. At least she did in the beginning. And now that she was slowly becoming more than a vessel, becoming more of the memories, the identity, the person, she didn't know if she still wanted it.
Her head tipped back in a silent laugh, a deep, resonating HA that goes unspoken.
Of course she still wanted it. This was her purpose, this was everything she was meant to do, and it was more than what she could say about the original she had just saved. Poor aimless, original Ruth, you only wish you were freed, don't you? It's alright, it's fine, she will run things for you.
She will be just as good at it as you, maybe even better. Replica Ruth tells herself this again and again until the she can't anymore. The smile on her face is still Cheshire-wide but far heavier with purpose.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:16 pm
POST 1 - XAVIER HOLLOW
In the midst of it all, he'd lost sight of Helmut and Drgn (again). And he still had no idea who Drgn was, not really, which made things all the worse. At least with Helmut he'd been able to deduce who she was, or guess until they'd finally had enough sense in the both of them to figure it out. Drgn was a mystery, though Xavier wasn't entirely sure he regretted not knowing.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe if he didn't know who he was, he wouldn't have to remember that they'd made acquaintances in this surreal world of whatever it was.
Maybe it would hurt less if he pretended that he just didn't exist at all.
He stood there, stock still in the midst of everything, and fear trembled up and down his spine, Xavier clutching his coat around him as though it might somehow magically protect him from whatever it was that was happening (doubtful, but it was an involuntary action, something he wasn't even really aware that he was doing). He supposed he could move, could try to find Helmut and Drgn again, but then he remembered that there was little point.
They wouldn't remember him, anyway.
(No one ever did.)
A hand touched his shoulder, and then his back, and then clamped around both of his in a vice-like grip that pulled him out of his inner thoughts and dragged him unceremoniously into the present. Xavier gave a startled, open mouthed stare at the figure in front of him and then tried in vain to pull away.
"Don't struggle," said the figure, and there was no mistaking his voice - or his face, though Xavier still struggled, almost working himself up into a panic now. He wondered, in a terrible fit of hysteria, whether Helmut would even notice that he was gone, or whether Drgn would know who he was and vice versa. He assumed not, but at the same time, the small spark of hope that he'd nursed just before the chaos was still there, low in the pit of his stomach, that maybe, maybe there were other people that cared about him.
The figure in front of him was smiling slightly, the corners of his lips quirked upwards. It wasn't really a pitying look, which Xavier was used to, but something else, something that Xavier couldn't quite identify.
"Don't be afraid," he said, and Xavier swallowed back the obvious response to this, which was that he was always afraid, whether it be afraid of one thing or something else entirely. He was always afraid because he was too weak to do anything more than just sit and be useless, sit and be scared of the world around him.
Too scared to reach out to those who might be willing to help him.
The figure was still smiling in that peculiar way. "I know who you are," he said gently, and Xavier trembled. He'd stopped trying to get away now.
"I know your thoughts," the figure continued, and something glowing appeared in his hands - a winged staff, identical to the one Xavier currently clutched to his chest, and the figure twirled it a little between his fingers. He wasn't looking at Xavier, but at some point above his head, as though his thoughts weren't entirely with him. "I know you're afraid of being alone."
Xavier's shoulders were hunched. He didn't reply.
The figure touched his shoulder gently. "You're not alone now, and you're not going to be alone forever."
"But I will," Xavier croaked out. His face felt hot with the shame of admitting it. "All I ever do is make m-mistakes. No one will r-remember me, or want to s-stay with me. I can't e-even find a f-friend, let alone...let alone..."
He trailed off miserably. The figure stopped twirling the staff and the smile was a little bigger now as he gently smoothed a hand over the top of Xavier's head in a gesture that was almost parental in nature, even affectionate.
"No one is ever really alone," he said, "least of all you. You are stronger than you think, my friend, and you are braver than you feel. Turn around and realize what you have accomplished and what you will accomplish."
"I can't," said Xavier.
"You can," said the figure, "because I'm saving you."
The staff was thrust through Xavier's torso before he could respond, before he could even blink, and all that he had time to do was open his mouth a little in surprise, draw a slight, ragged breath -
- and then, with a small gust of air, Xavier had disappeared entirely.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:17 pm
POST 2 - REPLICA [ATTEMPTEDMURDER]
It was sad, really.
A part of him wondered if he'd really and truly gotten through to him, if he'd managed to convince him of his own worth - but the other part of him, the more rational part of him, knew that it was probably a fruitless effort. The memories in his head were unreal, perhaps, and not his own, which meant that he feelings he held about Xavier Hollow were all fabricated from another being, pulled from the being himself.
He hadn't been lying; he was going to save Xavier Hollow, because that was what he was here for. He was here to save him, and take his place in the meantime, fill his head with thoughts and memories and feelings and emotions and use them to keep the Queen in her rightful place, in the cage that she belonged in.
Wasn't that being useful, then? Wasn't Xavier's existence something that was useful?
He wondered if he would get it, if he would realize that little truth all on his own, or whether he would simply stick his head in the metaphorical sand and choose not to think about it at all; force the memories and the ideas back down into the deepest recesses in his mind until all that was left was the self loathing and the fear and the pity and the terrible, aching loneliness.
The loneliness was perhaps the most difficult part of Xavier to accept; it ate away at him like a disease, filled his head with thoughts he shouldn't have been thinking - thoughts like I'm useless and I'm a terrible person and maybe it would be better if I just didn't exist at all.
But you do exist, thought the figure to himself as he readied himself for the inevitable end. You exist, which means that I exist, which means that I am doing something great in your name - and that also means that you have accomplished something worthwhile in your life, because I will be using that strength that you have to put an end to all of this.
The tips of his fingers were dissipating, slipping away into nothingness. He held out a hand almost experimentally, and the staff was gone, like Xavier had gone.
He wondered if this was what dying really felt like.
He wasn't dying, he told himself, not really. He was making a sacrifice for the greater good, and that was all that mattered. Memories - brief, quiet memories flitted across his mind, one in particular of a girl sitting beside Xavier on the grass, leaning towards him and looking as excited as could be before dragging him to his feet and half towing, half-leading him across the quad draped in the shadows of a tall building.
How strange, the figure thought, to think you were alone all this time when that wasn't really the truth at all, was it, Xavier Hollow?
He was almost entirely gone now.
The figure sighed a deep sigh, and it felt sad, but it also felt a certain sense of contentment because this was a good thing he was doing, sacrificing himself. Xavier was safe, and in return, he would provide him with what he could; he would do what he could to make him feel as though he had accomplished something because one thing could lead to another, and then he could accomplish many more great things.
It was just his face now. The figure closed his eyes, and the small smile was back on his face.
See, the figure thought, See? Why can't you see?
Almost gone.
You're not alone, you were never really alone.
Gone.
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Eco-friendly Shapeshifter
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:17 pm
[DEATH SOLO] - Alexis Zephyr - Post 1
See you.. Later.
Slowly Alex's eyes fluttered open. Life began to fill every inch of his previously lifeless form. Instead of being home, though, he was.... He was...
On the battle field. Confused and a little sore, Alex looked everywhere. All of the dead bodies were coming back to life. Instantly his one track mind went to one particular person: Teddy.
There was no time to find his friend, or to see any of his friends for that matter. Before him was the glistening form of the White Queen. She was fading, fading slowly, but as she faded a cage was forming around the masses. Thick, white thorns tangled together to create an inescapable wall. Shock caused ice cold tendrils to invade his body. After all this they would be caught and made to suffer. To Grieve.
As the cage closed, Alex wished he had never woken again. Even if it meant not seeing those closest to him, those precious friends with whom weeks of memories and bonds were forged. This was simply too much for the harpy to handle. Panic overrode every sense and ripped a scream from his throat. This was the end. An end worse than death. At least with death you knew it was over, but now? He did not know. All thoughts faded into the ether, except one. It was the tactile memory of something soft and plush, held tightly in his hand.
SNAP
Like a dam letting loose, memories roared back into Alex. Gasping, he struggled to crawl away from the Queen and the shattered cage. His whole existence had nearly been wiped away. Terrified and sick, he shuddered and stared at the Queen. It would not end here. She would make the cage again and they would di -
A door. That door Teddy had opened. It slowly unlocked behind the Queen. From it poured out hundreds of replicas. There were Frostpaws, Teddominations, Allans?, sweetm00ns, Ancient Pages, OuOs, and then there was him. BoiisonFIYAHs. Alex had only a moment to be confused before one of the replicas grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
"I know everything. All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container." Container? Alex wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't have much time to really ponder it. They were pressed for time. Alex had a feeling that he, and the other originals, had to get out that door and to freedom. Through the door, they could wake up and be safe.
"It's okay," Alex responded, looking around his replica. He tried to move away, but the container was equally strong and kept him at arms length, "Thank you. I'm sorry I was afraid of you. Will we be okay? Will I remember this?" He continued to jerk and tug on his arm. He had to get away. Why was the replica not letting go?
The replica did not respond right away. When it did, it spoke slowly and softly, "I'm not sure. You will know when you awaken. Thank you, Alexis Zephyr, our original."
Alex slowly turned to look at the Replica. There was a sense of finality in those words. That was when he saw the weapon. That multi-headed spear. Stunned, he watched as the Replica sliced him in half.
"Goodbye."
Smiling. Alex was smiling as he disappeared.
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 9:20 pm
[REPLICA] - BoiisonFIYAH - Post 2
He was smiling, the original. How very strange. At least he was safe and secure. The multiple replicas thought in unison, or maybe they did not. This replica, the one that landed the finishing blow, could not know that. All this replica could know were the brief thoughts and memories that washed over him.
As the Queen's arms, that sinister cage was made, he and his replica brethren watched passively. Memories, and their emotions, trickled over him. This replica had no control over them. He was like a creek bed and the memories the water. Just a vessel, made for a singular purpose.
Alex was standing in the middle of his bedroom. All the boxes were packed. His things were ready to be carried off by the various family members helping him to go to Amity. Except for an occasional visit, this would be the last time Alex saw this room, this home, for three or four years. It was painful, but exciting.
The replica blinked. The Queen was squeezing them closer. Limbs were starting to lose their senses. It didn't matter.
Alex laughed happily as he played with one of the cute minipets at the Minipets club. Someone else was there, asking him questions. It was perfect. A great day.
What would it be like to actually be alive? It didn't matter. Alexis Zephyr was saved. That was the purpose of This replica. This replica was awakened for a singular purpose.
"I promise you. No matter how weird things get, I will protect you." Teddy did not say anything in response. Instead he leaned his plush body against Alex's firm one. They held one another quietly for a short time.
Even if the other version, the real version, thought that he had failed, the truth was.. They had not. It was impossible to protect someone all the time, but you could till try. Now this replica was going to take Alexis Zephyr's place and those replicas would take Ulka Ursa's. They were safe. Sometimes the one you wanted to protect could save and protect you.
As the last inkling of conciousness left, this replica was smiling.
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Eco-friendly Shapeshifter
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