PROLOGUE: The Journey of Self-Exploration Begins >Here<
McCowboy had been wandering since his small voyage with the trees, and was careful since to not get too close to any other tree. He didn’t want another tree-hug or another slap. What he wanted was…cake.
That isn’t exactly what he wanted (it was just a vowel sound away from his true desire), it was all that could fill his mind in that moment. There was a delicious-looking cake taunting him, all alone on a table. As he took a bite of the cake, his environment began to rapidly change as he was shrinking smaller and smaller. His surroundings started to fill with smoke – a sweet smelling scent, another thing he longed for. Atop a tall mushroom rested a caterpillar with a hooka, and before McCowboy got ask for a smoke, he was being questioned who he was.
For a philosophical mind, the question may have hit deeper. For McCowboy, it was a simple query for his name. But once again, before he could utter a word, the area filled with further smoke, transporting him to a room with a door and a flashing neon sign. Flashing neon signs always meant there was a party to be had, and he wasn’t going to not make it for some partying…
CHAPTER ONE: No Homo, My Brethren
...or maybe this wasn’t a party after all. Disappointingly, this was just his apartment back in Nashville. Was he home? Oh, thank god. He was still wearing his weird clothing, but now wasn’t the time to change. No, it was the time to crack open a beer, flop onto the couch and flip on some Duck Dyansty. He grabbed a beer from his fridge and turned on the TV, but the noise caught the attention of someone else in the house.
He was not alone.
Peering over the couch, McCowboy saw himself – Wyatt McCoy – enter the living room. He wasn’t dressed in some strange outfit – no, he was in a normal flannel and jeans, and his signature cowboy hat rested on the coffee table.
What was this? Was this some kind of A Christmas Carol bullshit? Could he be seen?
“Who the ******** are you?” Wyatt asked.
Yes. Yes he can be seen, apparently.
“I’m…you,” McCowboy said. His avatar certainly looked enough like his actual self. The two selves stared each other down in confusion, and it wasn’t long before they were each a few beers deep and lost in conversation with themselves. It wasn’t until the final beer was finished that McCowboy said what he had been wanting to say.
“You know, this was always kind of a fantasy of ours right?” McCowboy suggested.
“What?”
“Er, you know, finding ourselves? We know it’s narcisstic, but come on, don’t you wanna…?”
“What ********? Are you queer?” Wyatt asked, offended.
“Are you…not?”
Suddenly, it all became obvious. The photos all around the apartment weren’t of him and various boys of his past, but with…women. The horror.
s**t! Life was so unfair. He finally got the chance to enter an alternate universe and he wasn’t even going to be able to ******** himself? “Goddamn it.”
“Get outta here,” Wyatt protested.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” McCowboy rose from the couch, mumbling to himself in shame as he crossed through the back exit and out of that universe.
CHAPTER TWO: Wyatt & Winona: A Love Story
McCowboy then found himself in a whole new setting – back at Flaming Saddles, the gay bar he works at back in Nashville.
“Let me guess, this is a straight bar now,” McCowboy groaned. The drag queen riding the mechanical bull seemed to swat away that theory pretty quickly. He took a seat at the bar and called over the bartender for a glass of Maker’s.
“Nice outfit,” the bartender teased as she handed him the drink. She took the Western-theme of the bar to heart as much he would, dressed in cutoff shorts, a tied-up flannel and cowboy boots with a matching hat. “Though it’s a cowboy bar, not a pirate bar, honey.”
“Yeah, well…,” he started. There was no excuse. None of this made any sense. He just paused and hoped that she would change the subject.
She didn’t.
The two remained awkwardly silent as McCowboy waited for the moment to pass and the girl waited for him to finish his damn sentence.
“AAaaaaanyways,” he eventually spoke up. “What’s your name?”
“Name’s Winona,” she started. “Winona McCoy.”
Oh.
So she was him. As a woman.
“And I’m out,” McCowboy downed his bourbon and moved for the exit before things got any weirder.
CHAPTER THREE: And Now For Something Totally Different
In the next alternate universe, McCowboy found himself once again.
This time, he found himself on the moon as Wyatt had his legs where his arms would go, his arms functioning as his legs, and seemingly no neck or head. His body was dancing around the area to obnoxious polka music that seemed to fill the entire universe, and he was wearing a kilt.
Laser beams shot from the sky and were blasting the area around him with cartoonish sound effects as alien-robot zombies closed in on them.
Every now and then, Wyatt’s head would poke out from underneath the kilt.
“Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit!” Wyatt greeted him. “Nullam porttitor volutpat lorem et blandit. Ut consequat tempor ante. Praesent ligula tortor, fringilla vitae condimentum non, varius eu lorem. Donec ut porta augue.”
McCowboy froze in confused awe for a while before making a much-needed exit from this insanity.
CHAPTER FOUR: The Battle of Two Tops, aka Logical Errors in Wyatt McCoy’s Narcissistic Sex Fantasies
Alas, McCowboy found himself in another room with another version of himself – this one clearly his real self.
The two stared each down. They knew what they wanted. No words needed to be spoken.
Within seconds they were peeling off their clothes and lunging towards each other. As the two wrestled to find a “comfortable” position, they realized there was a logical issue in having a sexual fantasy with oneself – they both wanted the same thing.
Ultimately, things were figured out and regardless of what went down, they both considered themselves winners.
However, it was Wyatt who turned into a small cake. Sometimes you can have your cake and eat it, too. He took a bite of the cake and all grew back to his normal size.
The experience left him feeling more empowered – and fulfilled – as he gained +1 level and some loot.
MY STATS
My character's username: McCowboy My character's level: 2 (+1 Level!) Character's HP: 30/30 Character's Job Class: Gryphon Current party: N/A Current Guild: N/A Location: Tulgey Woods Small IC description of character: A tall and muscular lightly freckled human with a brown and gold duster coat, tight red pants, and a slanted feathered cowboy hat. Character journal:[ BATTLE ENTRY LOG ]
It was dark. Very dark. The entire cavern was submerged in a thick layer of shadows, ones like Lock had never seen before. Even in their subterranean world, the lights hardly ever went out for such a long period.
"Glad you could join us," the voice called, his voice.
A tiny figure appeared beside the dream Lock, a tiny cat with a mirthful smile. "Voodoo, where have you-"
The darkness cleared for a moment, which was a very odd thing for darkness to do. Being a shadowmaster, Lock was used to this behavior of the shadows, but it was odd to see it without a shadowmaster weaving them.
Then all became clear as himself- his TRUE self was revealed. They were in his old room, from childhood. A tiny hovel carved into the side of the stone, little trinkets here and there. The latest comic books strewn here and there
"And you are?"
"Who am I?" the figure asked, rolling his shoulders a bit. "I'm you."
"You can't be, you don't have-" He looked down at the cat by his side, who said nothing. "You're obviously fake. Get back into that mirror."
"Oh but I can't. We have to fight, you know?"
Suddenly the shadows lashed out at Lock, wrapping around him and confining him. "Too tight?" The shadows squeezed tighter, "Good." He laughed something maniacal and said, "See how much stronger you can be without her."
The cat winced, unsure of what to do. She ran forward to attack the other Lock, but they both knew she was powerless without Lock's FEAR.
All at once, the fighting ceased. The shadows faded, another room opened.
This time, Lock with Voodoo. "Again?"
"Again."
Once more the shadows wrapped around him, but this time he was prepared. Up went a shield, parried by the other Lock's shadowy tendrils. On they fought like this. It was a draw. The room faded once more. This time, it opened to his room at Amityville Academy.
"Again."
They clashed, the battle growing fiercer. Neither side relented, until Lock summoned Voodoo, against his own will. Her eyes glowed a fierce blue until they exploded into a shadowy mess outwards, ramming into the other Lock. That other self- the true self- disappeared into shadowy mist, leaving a single cupcake behind.
"Well done," he said begrudgingly. The cat was already gone, having faded back into nothingness in the alternate universe.
It was a dumb idea--he shouldn't have eaten that damn cake--but it was too late for regrets now. With nowhere left to go but forward, the boy stepped into the first room, his eyes immediately drawn towards the figure curled up in the center of the room. Was that--Jack, it was him. Small and sniveling with his legs pulled up to his chest.
He found himself stuck there and staring at the other boy in disgust, feeling shame at the knowledge that that was exactly what he had done upon first arriving in Halloween. Frightened and confused, the boy had hid out in a dark alleyway for a good day or so before someone had found him. It bothered him that his earliest memory of himself was of him cowering in fear.
Needless to say, it didn't take too much of an effort for him to tear his gaze away and head into the next room.
In the next room, he found once again himself...but perhaps one that was older. He wasn't even sure if he could age being an undead, plastinated body, but the thought didn't even really occur to himself. Instead, he found himself too caught up in awe, moving forward to take a closer look.
Of all the things he had come to love, Puppetking had discovered that he had a serious knack for academics. Or rather, it was not really skill, but he possessed a strong determination for it. Despite not being particularly fond of others, the thought of doing something useful with his life--with helping others learn--had become a rather appealing though to him early on in his days at Amity.
He found himself gazing at the professor Lutz with a hint of pleasure, watching as the man read away at the books scattered across his desk. His brows were furrowed in concentration, eyes intent...
But Puppetking had one more room to go through. Tearing his gaze away, he continued onwards, only to find himself in what appeared to be an empty room.
And this one happened to be the most frightening of all for him. Whereas the other room had been his dream future, this was the one that scared him the most. How many times had he wondered what would await him in his future in Halloween? How many times had he believed that the answer was nothing?
So like he always did when he came to that question, he ran. After having spent a good while frozen and staring blankly at the empty space, he suddenly bolted into the next and final room, eager to escape his own thoughts.
The mirror was met with a look of confusion, but then that confusion changed to a grimace as he watched his other self emerge. Wordlessly, his other self settled down in front of a chessboard that had suddenly appeared, and knowing what was about to begin, Puppetking settled on the other side of the table.
When it came to such games, Puppetking was confident that he could not be beat. With a smug smile and a checkmate, he soon walked out of there with a new card in hand.
Kaiyumi
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Rikku Takanashi
Friendly Guardian
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 11:34 pm
As Pumcat passed into the next room she found it too was a room she didn't know but this one was curious all that was in it was a single full length mirror there also wasn't a neon exit sign anywhere "Hm... curious..." she mutters as she approches the mirror however what she saw in the mirror made her gasp in surprise
There standing in the mirror was not the her that met the caterpilliar and went room to room trying to figure out who she was or the one who had riddled with a cheshire cat or the one that had blue cat ears and a slightly dissapearing tail who was on a grand wonderland adventure no the her in the mirror was the her that was sleeping in bed the one who was wearing her usual attire the Real Her or at least it seemed like it was
As she studied her reflection it suddenly moved on its own it smiled at her and slowly stepped out of the mirror which caused the little orange haired cheshire cat to step back in surprise "Im the Real you the one that wishes to be a FEAR collector but isn't sure she wants to leave all that she currently cares about" the doppleganger says then flexes her hand as she does her ever familiar pumpkin wand appears in their hand "Im real and you are not so now you must go!" her reflection says then points the wand at Pumcat "W-wait! I-im the real me!" she stammers as she backs up further her dopplegangers only reply was the speaking of a spell she knew all to well "Fire!" the other shouts which was quickly followed by a ball of fire forming infront of the wand "Eeek!" she yelps and jumps to the side just in time to avoid the fiery ball however she had little time to recover as the spell was repeated
Again she dodged but knew she couldn't do this forever but what could she do? She didn't yet know how to fight as a cheshire cat with her deck and what could she really do agenst herself? The her with her weapon and spells? The spell was repeated and again she dodged she knew she had to fight back but how? She looked into her dopplegangers eyes trying desperately to think of a way to fight back when a realization struck her That was the her before she went to sleep the one who hasn't gone through wonderland and the one that has her doubts about leaving home to follow her dream it was then that it all struck her why the rooms appeared as they did the first was her room she remembered how doubtful of leaving she felt in that room second was her trip through wonderland there she felt happy and stronger like her adventure so far had helped her grow stronger and the last room her possible room at Amityville it felt like hers like she was meant to be there like it was right and true but she knew if she didn't leave home that that room never would be hers and she would miss out on so much she remembered how resolute she was that the room would be hers and how she had cast her doubts of leaving home aside
It was then that Pumcat knew how to fight her doppleganger she stands up straight confidently as she meets her other's eyes they grin triumphantly and repeat the familiar spell firing the fiery ball however Pumcat didn't flinch nor move to dodge instead she held her ground and right before the ball was due to hit her it fades away in a puff of smoke confusion set in the dopplegangers eyes as Pumcat smiles happily "I am the real me! The one that has grown stronger because of this adventure!" she says confidently then spreads her hands out as she does her nails begin to glow a solid light blue the glow then lengths and comes to a point once it was around a inch long the light bursts off revealing her nails had turned to razor sharp claws that were solid as a rock she then draws a attack card and using the strength it bestows she lunges forward and slashes at her doppleganger
At first the doppleganger was stunned however it smiles happily and turns to smoke which forms into another delicious looking cake Pumcats claws glow light blue then return to nails once more a happy excited expression comes on her face as she runs over to the cake "Yay!" she cheers as she leans down to pick up the cake and laughs a bit as she see's the little candy mushroom on top up to her mouth it goes and she eats it in one bite not wanting to waste any this time and like the first cake it was delicious
The room turned to smoke around her and before long she was standing at her full size infront of the table on the plate was another cake just like the one from before she laughs but stops when she hears a victory ding from the card in her pocket indicating she went up a level blinking in confusion she looks up and smiles as she see's her level go from four to five she then looks around and frowns a bit as she doesn't see a chest she shrugs figuring she wouldn't get a card this time and goes to take a step but when she does she feels something under her boot when she lifts her foot up to see she smiles happily as she finds a card stuck to her foot! After sticking it in her deck she heads off
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2014 3:52 am
tw: slurs
[ enter ]
The cake looked delicious.
k1ng tentatively approached the table, fingers skating along the edges with careful fingers. It was resting on the kind of dish that got displayed next to a you break it, you buy it sign, delicate and small and precious.
It was a falsehood built on other falsehoods: in a world borne from dreams, the rules were constantly shifting, and he had already learned that trusting the snacks always ended in change. He didn't like it. k1ng was too dumb to navigate the labyrinthine logic patterns present in a dream, and too impatient to even try.
It meant that he was lost. All the time, he was lost.
With no one around to watch, the dormouse didn't hesitate to clutch his tail, a security blanket against the unknown. More and more, k1ing was unsure that he was capable of facing the contents of his mind.
Still: the cake waited.
k1ng took a bite.
0. Who Am I?
Small, now, even smaller than before. Still a mouse, just without a great deal of his muchness. It was a shame, given his lack of much-y before he'd lost it. There hadn't been very much to spare.
The caterpillar speaks, callous and unkind, without any interest at all. A familiar thing, that: tasks from adults without any investment, interested in the follow through but not the journey.
Every one of his words beyond "who are you, find out" is lost upon him, a rattling, rambling charitable explanation lost on the foolish and the dull.
<< Who are you, >> Aleria asks, curious, wispy like the caterpillar's smoke.
Go away, he says. (I don't know, he means.)
This is just a dream, he thinks, dashing through the door with the EXIT sign above it. This is just a dream, made just for me.
Or is it?
Wonderland is a place known to be the safe-haven for escapists, a place of faraway thoughts and pleasantries to cover up the ugliness of reality. It was a place to retreat to, to hide in, if you were lucky enough to dissociate from the day to day abuse.
k1ng scrubs at his face, tired, the first room fading into view.
1. What Was
It is only a few days in, and you have seen this a half dozen times before. It is you, and you are cowering, hiding under the bed and behind a pile dirty laundry, hopefully out of reach. You are laying next to yourself, close enough to touch, and the door down the hall that leads to your brother's room is the one marked as the EXIT.
His footsteps are heavy, and you are waiting. You are both waiting.
He is saying: Come closer, little brother. You have really done it, now.
You watch yourself bite almost clean through your lip, a thin trickle of blood sliding out from between them, cherry red. He is slamming the doors, looking for you. Every door in the house. The room you share, the bathroom, the pantry, linen closet. He is running out of places, and you are running out of time.
You are small and weak and angry and sore, you are at fault and cannot behave like anything more civilized than a rabid dog off its leash. You need to be put down, you know. You need to be put in your place. It is always for your own good. You lay a hand upon your past-self's temple, robotic and halting, because you need to get to the exit.
Words of comfort run through your head, but nothing comes but this:
"Better you than me," even as the boy (it is you, you are a boy now and were a boy then) begs for you to stay.
Your brother lifts the mattress off the bed, revealing the pair of you beneath the slats, and without looking back at the sad sack of s**t that you used to be, you do what you have done best for so, so long.
You run. The crunch of bone ringing in your ears follows you out the EXIT door.
2. What Is
Heart still racing, your feet stutter to a stop, the momentum carrying you through the door and into a dark alley, until you stop, full stop, because it is you.
Except, it is not you. Not as you know yourself. This you is a little older, a little leaner, with dyed black hair and pierced ears and a fishnet shirt peeking out from beneath a blue raincoat. On your face is a grin that is downright cheshire, pleased but not in pleasure. You are wrapped around someone, conveniently the right size to be an armful to them and little more.
You watch all of this in silent, abject horror, because it is exactly the sort of alley that distasteful activities occur in.
This is not who you have ever been. This is not who you are. This is not who you can become.
In the distance, an EXIT sign glows, leading to a filthy club that you recognise for its reputation, and are disgusted.
Your other-self's company is talking, leaning in to brush his lips against a pierced ear, thinking himself suave when he is anything but. But, still, you follow them, even as they lean against the brick, and the man tries to kiss you but thank god, you turn away, and you-- this is confusing, but the real you-- are so relieved until a murmured word changes the game.
Everything in this world has a price.
The other you's eyes are lined in black, smudged, and when the man kisses your neck, the look in your own eyes is enough to make you sick.
It is empty. You aren't a f** but even if you were he wouldn't even be your type, you would never, why would you even, and. (Questions, questioning, and all you know is no, god no, not him, maybe someone else but not him--)
In you there is not even the strength to fight it, to scream, to protest, and so you stumble to the EXIT, into the haze of smoke and the stink of stale alcohol that are always present in such a dive.
3. What Will Be
It is a room, white and sterile and cold, devoid of anything good in this world. It is a room, with a large kiln. It is a room, and it is where the funerals happen on Deus Ex.
You walk forwards, fingers dragging along the walls, lead in your belly and screaming inside. Aleria winds around you, but even in your mind, they are cold twice over. Ice and death and frost and loneliness.
There is a body under a sheet, and a Life tech working nearby, fiddling with dials and flicking switches.
"--Yeah, another one. There's a dozen more, I know, down the line. It's just a matter of getting them down there, Edith's people are kind of slacking--" The tone is gossipy, catty, because to them this is just because someone wanted to swap out their Cremation Services for Minipet Duty.
The EXIT is the entrance to the flames, and despite the fact that you can hear them crackling, the room still stays.
So cold.
You are not even dreading flipping the sheet. It would be too easy, for this dream simulation, to show you anything but you you you.
"--Such a ******** idiot--"
<< Repetition, scareling, >> they murmur, << we should go. >>
But I want to see it.
<< We don't need to do that. >>
"--Such a ******** idiot--"
You pull the sheet back. It is you, not a day older. It is you, beneath the fresh burns of something fearsome. It is you, cold and lifeless and the world swims out from beneath you.
"--Such a ******** idiot--"
<< We should not have done that. >>
The conveyor belt grinds into motion, and sickly, you crawl onto it, broken. The heat singes your skin, flames fan and consume, the flames devour, the flames burn away all the evidence of your failures, the flames are the EXIT.
4. Find out.
Any trace of fire on you is gone, vanished as soon as you zone into the next area. It is disorienting, all this travelling without so much as a goalpost to cling to. In its stead, you cling to your tail, and give in to the urge to cough to soothe your burning lungs.
There is a mirror, here, and from it is someone you have not seen before. He is taller, for one, and his hair is shorn close to his head, rather than being a messy, unmanageable mop. He is tan and freckled and smiling, hazel eyes meeting yours with a smugness you only halfway succeeding at exuding.
"Hello, Leslie," he says, stripping you of the right of your chosen name. You know two things: that he is you, and that he is doing this to prove that he is in control.
This is your game, in your world, in your dream, but he is the one calling the shots. There is no EXIT in sight.
You shake, lips sneering. "I'll hazard a ******** guess and say that you're Leslie, too?"
"Don't be such a ridiculous little s**t," he says, amicable, taking a seat at a table that materialises in front of you. "I'm King." The grin he wears is self-assured, easy going. "That's what I go by. In the real world, with real friends."
It stings, because the implications he makes are true. You scowl, and turn your seat around backwards, collapsing onto it. "Then I'll bite, since you're waiting to for me to ******** ask. What makes you so ******** different from me?"
King smiles, always smiling, and hides his mouth. "You see," he says, "I didn't have to suffer." You wait for him to expand, to detail everything and the how and the why, but King leaves it as that. He leans back in his chair, well muscled and smug and in control.
What he implies is pretty clear: I'm not broke. You are.
<< Scareling. >>
"What do you mean," you ask, sounding as small as you feel. The bravado can only stretch so thin when both of you know that it's not real.
"It means that I fought back, instead of hiding. It means that I emerged victorious, instead of running."
<< Scareling. >>
"I don't understand." The memories slide in from between the cracks, oozing through the tape you used to piece yourself back together from the shattered glass you had once been.
"I think you do, Leslie," King replies lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke across the table. It stings at your eyes, and you want to move, to shove and to ruin him, to break his nose like someone had yours, but you cannot.
Instead, you say: "******** you. I know my own ******** failures. I don't understand all this." Gesturing to the room, you ask: "What do you want from me?"
(What you mean is: where is the EXIT.)
King takes another drag, exhaling lazily, and hysterically you think this version of yourself looks too much like the caterpillar to be anything but disturbing.
<< Scareling. >>
"I want you to admit that I'm the real you."
"What a load of bull. You're a dream, ********, in case you've forgotten." You surely haven't, with the way your wings flutter, with the way that people had names over their heads, with the way that you collect levels and cards as if your in-game proficiency and affluence have any sort of real value.
"That doesn't mean I'm less you. It means that I'm more you, if I'm frank, Leslie."
"You're a <******** dream. You aren't real. It is as easy as ******** that."
"Maybe I'm the one that's dream, and instead of being what you could have been, maybe it's the other ******** way around?"
<< Scareling. End this. >>
"No." Shaking with rage.
"Maybe you're the cautionary ******** tale between the two of us, considering."
"No."
"Maybe, if you weren't such a pansy little f**."
"Stop it," you hiss, covering your ears, and the memories all pool in your head, as if you've been submerged in the lake, dunked over and over and over and over again.
"Maybe if you hadn't let him."
<< Repetition, scareling. Break it. >>
"Just, stop, jesus dude, I just want to go home, you're not real. This is just a dream, and you're not ******** real. Just. Tell me where the EXIT is."
"You have two options, Leslie. You win, or you lose. Between the two of us, I know which one is the one accustomed to losing, and it sure as ******** isn't me. I never let anyone--"
"STOP."
"I never let anyone--"
"STOP."
"I never let anyone--"
"STOP."
"I never let anyone--"
<< Say it. >>
"You're the real me."
5. Are You Content Now?
It was only fitting, for this ordeal to begin with and end with a cake. With shaking hands, k1ng took a bite, and wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve.
"I want to go home," he said, to no one at all. "I really, really, want to go home."
[ exit ]
OOC
My character's username: k1ng My character's level: 10 Character's HP: 30 Small IC description of character: k1ng is arguably the angriest Dormouse the game has ever seen. At barely five feet tall, he is among the shortest as well. Two comically large ears sit on the side of his head, and above his eyebrows are a pair of pink demonic horns. Behind him are a pair of white wings, because he clearly can't make up his mind. About anything.
Anyway, don't stand in fire, and he won't start screeching angrily.
Shadow walks around when she come across a cake. Feeling a bit hungry she decides to eat it. After eating the delicious cake the word suddenly changes. Everything grows big or perhaps is it just Shadow that has shrunk. Smoke fills the air and the source seem to be a big mushroom with a caterpillar on top. "Who R U?", it asks. In all the confusion leading up till know Shadow is suddenly faced with the most existential questions ever and she can't find it in herself to answer. After waiting for an answer the caterpillar say "Find OUT."
Then the smokes clear and Shadow finds herself in a room. In the corner of the room sits a girl. She is crying her heart out. Shadow looks like her in distaste and say. "Stop crying, crying won't get you anywhere. You need to grow up and be strong and thats that". She walks right across the room ignoring the wails of the small girl.
The next room holds another scene. This time it's some boys picking on defenseless victim. The victim is calling for help and the boys are laughing. Shadow calls to the victim: "Don't expect people to come to your rescue, they seldom do. Learn to fight and use this experience to make yourself stronger" She continues on to the next room.
This room contains similar scenes as the first two rooms, but this time is the little girl and the victim the same person. She stops and looks as the girl raises her head. Shadow meets the eyes of the past her. Nobody helped me and now I'm a lot lot stronger, she says to the girl. I'm proud to be me and I'm happy that I experienced that so that I could grow strong. Don't give up, it will work it self out eventually." Shadow walks out of the room proud of herself.
The next room isn't like the other ones. This one only contain on large mirror. And out of steps Nii. Shadow looks at here and find herself longing for what she's been missing. Nii spook first.
"Why am I blue?" "Don't know I've been asking myself that exact same question." "I don't like it." "Neither do I, but unlike you I don't have a choice of looks." "You looks weak." "I do not! And I'll prove it to you in a battle of rock, paper, scissor." "Weird choice of fight, but I won't back down." Rock, paper, scissor, they both, screamed in unison. Both picked rock... Rock, paper, scissor, they both, they shouted again. rocks again. The match continued like this for awhile. "I guess both great minds think the same." "Yeah It looks like it." Rock, paper, scissor, they both screamed in unison. This time it didn't end in a tie. Nii stood victorious with a scissor in her hands. "Hah, I guess you can't beat the original." "Don't get cocky it was just luck, but a win is a win and I lost." The world swirls around them and you return to the clearing were everything started. "I might not be the best me, but this will have to do for now. If only I could get rid of this strange blue color..." She starts walking when she finds something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Oh, a card. Well finders keepers"
MY STATS
My character's username: Shadow My character's level: 8 Character's HP: 30/30 Character's Job Class: Cheshire Cat Current party: - Current Guild: - Location: Tulgey Woods Small IC description of character: Cat like female with cat ears, tail and eyes. She has black hair in a messy bun and is dressed in a black and blue dress complete with a scarf. Character journal:here
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2014 7:10 am
You eat the cake because of course you do, you've never been one to deny yourself the small pleasures. Shrinking, however, has long since lost all novelty. Being small is not at all your natural state. You follow the smoke accordingly, calling out the familiar name then, after remembering, the current alias. What you find instead is another sort of caterpillar. Whose rudeness you return in kind until smoke swallows you whole.
It's the quiet hum of the icebox accompanied by the loud ticking of the old kitchen clock that tells you immediately where you are, even before the smoke clears and you see the man sitting across the way. You pick at the edges of the table, nails sliding briefly under its peeling surface as he begins the nightly routine over hotdogs and easy mac.
"Only a w-week left," he begins, quiet and unsure. Over a foot taller and several times wider, one would never guess that he was the shy one. The one who was soft-spoken and painfully hesitant. People say you're loud, because you're confident in yourself and your words, moreso than they think a girl your age ought to be. You almost never feel loud, though, not until you open your mouth to speak to him and he flinches at the sound, the noise, of your voice, his own growing smaller in turn.
He continues to try to find the words, and you've given up guessing (hoping) what they may be. He'd come back in time for your graduation and had stayed. Stayed with you longer than he has in years, and it's not because you asked him to, either. Because that's another thing that hasn't happened in years, isn't it?
For the most part, you don't see each other much. You have your own business to attend to, loose ends to tie up before leaving for basic and a life where the already sickly ties that bound the two of you finally withered and faded into polite acquaintance. He keeps to himself as usual, going on day long walks and drives, burying himself in whatever book he found closest at hand. But every night he'd be home for dinner with you, and every night he tried to say whatever it was that was keeping him here. Maybe they were Don't go, I'll miss you. Or a nice I'm proud of you. Or I'm sorry I haven't been here for you. There was a chance, even, of the quietly longed for I don't resent your existence for the killing of her, for the death of she who I loved most and best.
Didn't matter though, whatever they were, because he never spoke them. Because every night he'd go quiet and then excuse himself from the painful burden of your presence and retreat to someplace safer and easier to bear.
But maybe tonight would have been different, as suddenly the man sits up a bit taller, voice growing stronger with some newfound inner conviction. It's possible he's finally found it in himself to say the things he'd been holding in not just for months but for years. And as he begins, you stand up, interrupt with a voice that carries the surety and confidence it always does and of course he flinches. Of course he grows small once again. "Don't worry 'bout a thing, Pa. I got it all covered and, by the by, I'm gonna stay over at Sue Belle's for the next few days, last minute girly bonding an' all, you know?" You bend down to kiss his cheek, because you love him despite it all. "I'll see you before I leave, okay?"
Because you met a man in a suit today, the one you'd been waiting for all your life. Because you were going to be the one to leave for good, for real. Forever. There were words you'd waited your entire life to hear, and now it was your turn to deny him those words for the rest of his entire life.
Passing through the exit is not a victory.
Who are you?
You are wounded and bitter and cruel in your small tragedies.
The bed is hard, but it smells of him and you and home. Your head rests in his lap as he tries to braid it again, more perfectly symmetrical this time, and it would be so easy to ignore the exit and simply sleep here. You have been missing him to a degree that was bordering on painful and everything is safe and warm and loved here in a way you treasure, in a way that continually startles you.
"I love you," falls easily from your lips, because you can't just not say it every time the realization hits.
He stares down fondly, but there's something troubled at the edges that tugs at you, that has you sitting up to cup his face. And doesn't he always seem so vulnerable like this? Out of the coat and layers and boots, his solid presence gives way to someone younger and likely softer than he'd appreciate you noticing.
The sign buzzes and flickers impatiently at you, and he notices when your attention shifts. The brief look of hurt betrayal is a fist clenching around your chest even as it slides to cold disappointment. There is a sudden distance between you, but nothing so large you couldn't bridge it right now. Nothing you can't fix if only you'd keep your promise not to leave him. You leave him in that room, and in your heart you know he will sit there and wait until all faith in you dies. And then he will move on, your memory only a painful source of resentment until that too, grows cold and withers away into nothing.
Passing through the exit is a loss you try (and fail) to steel yourself against.
Who are you?
You are the one who will find him. This is a dream and you will find him again because you are each the other's and you will not leave him or let him go so easily as that.
The room you step into is one you don't recognize, though a glance out the window shows an evening landscape that does not belong to Deus. There's a small bed beside the wall and you pick up several toys as you make your way towards it. The boy is small for his age, and his features fit oddly (perfectly) in his face making him a fairly unlovely (beautiful) child, and you think he'll grow into them, grow maybe as large as his grandpa.
You give him a chiding look as you put the toys up and the look he gives you in turn is full of stricken mourning. He didn't mean to, it was the shadows. And you know a thing or two about those (though bullshit, kid, don't think you can use them as an excuse to be sloppy this isn't a maid service) and so you tuck him in and you both settle in for the story. Books are not at all your joy, though for him you make the attempt; but at bedtime you skip the literature and simply make up your own for and with him because those are the best, thanks much. The shadows of course, creep in about the edges of both stories and room, because how can they not? But there's always, always a happy ending not too far around the corner, ready and waiting for a clever little boy who is well loved, who has any number of cardboard and glitter traps carefully placed about his room to catch any who dare to lurk too freely.
The exit sign begins to dim as you continue just a little longer, because what happens next? Just a little longer because he'll be asleep soon. Just a little longer because you never thought you'd be capable of this. You never thought it in you to create and tend to a life that was not your own. You are that poor girl. That almost-daughter. The one that ran wild and loud and so, so very selfish.
When the man in the suit had explained never to you, there was a smile on your face as you shrugged. It had always been never, as far as you were concerned. You weren't that kind of person. You weren't a mother. How could you be?
A small, confused voice follows as you exit. And for the first time, you question the most major decision you've made in your life. The decision that means for good, for real. Forever. Never
Who are you?
You are, quite possibly, not who you thought you were.
It is a relief to see only yourself in the mirror, even as the Real Deal steps out and proceeds to criticize the hair, but approve of the boots. The Real Deal has yet to wake up to old hurts and new doubts, she hasn't spent what's felt like days searching for the one you love most and best, and so she is confident and fearless as she strides across the room. Eventually she proposes a race, because of course she does. And she wins, because of course she does.
You watch Phoenix shift and twist into a sad little cake, and you eat it because of course you do, you've never been one to deny yourself the small pleasures.
OOC
My character's username: Phoenix My character's level: 14 (exp: 50/100) Character's HP: 30 Current party: Current Guild: Location: Small IC description of character:
Tall and curvy with a proud bearing, Phoenix strides about in red and black Gryphon armour like it was designed just to swirl dramatically about her and emphasize how freaking majestic she is. From the name, to the cockscomb of a faux hawk, to vivid orange-red eyes, Phoenix's appearance announces: I bring the fire.
Oh. That was why. Shrinking was not something she'd ever get used to - she hoped it wasn't going to be an ongoing thing. Hrm. Well, time to figure out how to get back to normal size...she just had to find her way through the smoke.
Instead of her way, she found a Caterpillar. A very nosy (and somewhat rude) fellow. "I.." He didn't even let her try to answer the question before blowing smoke in her face.
She blinked. Hrm. A room, where there had been a Caterpillar a moment before. That was just as confusing as his question had been. Who was she? A very deep question indeed.
Shrugging, and still feeling very small, smaller than even the cake had made her, Waffleberry stepped toward the exit. Might as well move on so she could contemplate her existence further.
***
The room beyond looked…. Just like the bedroom she’d spent most of her life it. There was her bed, her closet, her desk, and there the door to the hallway, a poster of a unicorn still taped to it. That was odd, the door, because she was standing in a doorway…but this room only had one door. Or it should have.
She stepped inside. It was really the only thing to do.
It looked just like she remembered, just like it had in Middle School. So girly, so… young. It was like coming home. She smiled.
“You could stay. We could play.” The voice was familiar, and long since gone from any world. Or nearly any.
She turned, eyeing the girl that sat on her bed. “You’re dead, Bethany.”
“Maybe. But you could stay. We were happy here, in this time. Things were so simple. You should stay. They can be simple again.”
Waffleberry shook her head. Some part of her wanted to stay. Something deep down that longed for the ease of childhood and the laughter of her friend. But she knew. “You’re dead, and for some reason you haunt my nightmares.” Memories of hearts and scissors flashed. “It’s not even my fault you’re dead. No, Beth. I will not stay with you, this time or ever.”
Waffleberry shook her head and crossed the room. She heard sniffles. Young Bethany was crying. At least she wasn’t threatening to cut out her heart.
Opening the door to the hall, she stepped through.
***
There was no hallway. There was instead, a room that was…hardly a room. A garden? A greenhouse? Plants grew, many with flowers. Roses here and there, white and red, and blue?
She… she was wearing a dress. Much like the princess dress she’d always wanted.
Birds sang, water trickled in a little stream… it was beautiful here. Beautiful and she knew it was peaceful and she could stay forever. Here, she would be a princess. A pretty little world where she was in charge, where got whatever she wanted.
The door behind her was gone.
The only thing resembling a door was the archway by the gazebo. She moved toward it, past a table where a chess game was set up. Past another with checkers. Such a wonderful and peaceful place, where she could play games all day and relax in her own private garden.
She wanted to stay.
But she couldn’t. She had things to do, people she would miss.
She gave the quiet garden one, longing look. Maybe if she didn’t have to be alone here, but… Shaking her head she stepped through the archway, white roses watching her.
***
She stood in a house she didn’t recognize. It… looked lived in, but clean. Almost neat. It smelled like the Island, and the grayish hue to the light coming in the windows confirmed that yes, this was home. But whose house had she wandered into?
“Welcome home,” a voice said in her ear. It was the most pleasant of voices, as far as she was concerned. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. “I hope you’re not planning on leaving again so soon.”
“I think I have to,” she said. Right? She needed to continue on. She needed to see who she was.
“No, you don’t.” He pulled her tighter and she felt his lips against her neck. Warm and comforting, that’s what he was. “You should stay. I want you to stay.” It felt nice to snuggle up to him like that. She let that moment linger, savoring it. It was calming and loving and beautiful.
“Is this who I am?” She was trying to find out, wasn’t she?
“Yes,” he said. Sadness filled her heart when he let her go, but he spun her around and pulled her close again. “You’re mine, remember. We’re together. We should stay together.” He kissed her, and she loved it. He was rarely quite so… passionate about things. “Please stay. I want you to stay.”
“I want to stay.” It was true. She did. This made her happy. A life together with him was what she wanted, all she dared to hope for anymore. “But…I don’t think I can. I think I need to move forward.”
“No,” he looked like he might cry. “You should stay. Please.” His lips pressed against her forehead. “Stay here with me, just like this.”
She cried. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. He sounded so sad now, he looked so sad. “I can’t. Not right now.” She brushed his cheek. “But when I wake up, I promise I’ll stay with you. I already have promised, you know.” She had promised. And this… this was all a dream, wasn’t it? “Besides,” she continued, “I don’t think I like this house. We’ll pick a better one.” One last smile, and then she turned away.
It hurt to walk away from him, even now, when she was telling herself it was just a dream. It hurt so much to not turn around when she heard him sniffle. She wiped away a tear of her own. This was what she wanted. This happy little future where they were together and things were perfect. But something felt off. Something felt…not whole. “I’m sorry. But I have to make sure I know who I am.” She reached for a door.
***
In this room there was nothing but a large, ornate mirror. She looked back at herself, seeing the reflection with a clarity that seemed unreal. The reflection moved, left the mirror.
She was left staring at herself. Both of her. She felt a twinge of déjà vu, this was something she remembered, she even remembered meeting another her with bunny ears. One weak smile was flashed. The other her did not return it; her gaze hard and steady.
A staring contest.
In the end, she wasn’t sure who looked down and away first. It was her, clearly, but which one? The her that didn’t was the stronger one, the one with the greater backbone, the one who could look anything in the eye.
She watched as the her that stared at the floor turned to smoke, to cake. And then the world got small again.
Waffleberry, Sherry something whispered, felt… like herself. Herself and good. Nice and strong.
“Thanks.”
She made it three steps before noticing a card on her shoe. Sweet.
MY STATS
My character's username: Waffleberry My character's level: 13 Character's HP: 30/30 Character's Job Class: White Rabbit Current party: -- Current Guild: -- Location: Tulgey Woods Small IC description of character: White rabbit with blonde hair~ red dress with white accessories. Super cute and happy. Character journal:Battle Log
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2014 1:47 pm
[Enter] Cupcake found herself in front of a table. Upon further inspection, the table held a little cake. Oh how perfect! Cupcake loved cakes! Picking it up off the table, she finished it daintily in two little bites. Mmmm, it was good, but...what was happening? The world suddenly grew very large, she wasn't very tall to begin with but this was just ridiculous! But as she noticed, she had shrunk down to the same size as a bug! Ew! But, she was able to see things she hadn't before, which was cool she supposed. Cake noticed a rather large mushroom with a rather large caterpillar on top of it. "Who are YOU?" The bug asked rather rudely. Cupcake frowned at the caterpillar before responding, "I am me, what does it matter to you?" She had barely enough time to get that sentence out before she was becoming enveloped in smoke, "Find out." The bug said back to her as her vision was all but blocked.
**********
By the time Cupcake was able to see again, she found that she wasn't even in the presence of the caterpillar anymore. She found herself in her in the kitchen of her house, a newly prepared dinner on the table. Cupcake smiled proudly at the dinner that had been presented to her parents who had just sat down and began eating. "Oh Ky, this is so good! I'm so proud of you for coming out of your room and making this for us!" Cupcake looked confusedly at her Mom who was gushing about how much she liked the dinner. But Cake knew that wasn't how it actually went. "Mom? Are you okay?" She asked, looking around the room for anything that might be off. That was when she noticed the glowing neon exit sign above their front door. "Of course I'm okay sweetie, you just made this amazing meal for us. Come, sit down and eat with us." Cupcake shook her head, knowing something was off. She had never received that kind of praise from her Mother before, especially not when she made that dinner. Cupcake strode out to the door and opened it and walked out before she could change her mind.
**********
Walking through the door took her somewhere she had been dreaming of visiting, Amity Academy. Cupcake stared in awe as she was in a large room that was filled with others her age. A large smile brightened Cupcake's face as she couldn't wait for the class to start. But as she chose a seat and sat down, another girl came up to her. She was very pretty, Cake thought shew as a ghost. "You're in my seat. Move." Was all she said, and even proceeded to push Cupcake out of the chair. No matter where she sat, the same thing kept happening. She had just tried the last chair and the same thing had happened. Cupcake stood, and was on the verge of tears when she saw the exit sign. With one last longing look around the room, she held back her tears and strode out of the room.
**********
That door took her to a street. It looked like the street she lived on in Halloweentown, but it was slightly different. There were humans!! She was in the fleshy world! She had to get out. Just as she was turning around to find the green exit sign someone shouted her name. "Ky! Ky! You going to the movies with us tonight? We'll give you a ride, come on!" The human girls yelled at her, trying to get her to go with them like she was one of them. She shook her head and took a few steps away from and ran in the opposite direction and was relieved to see the green exit sign. She couldn't get through that door fast enough.
**********
She walked right into a plain room. The walls were white and the room seemed to be lit by some unknown source. Only a single mirror stood on one of the walls, and out stepped...herself?? The dopple ganger looked exactly like her..with some modifications. She was taller...and skinnier and didn't have those annoying freckles across her face. "I hoped you'd make it this far." The spectre said to her as it approached, slinking forward like a cat. It too wore the same clothes Cupcake did and so it pulled off it's madhatter hat. "What do you want, why are you here?" Cupcake said to it, taking off her hat as well. "I'm here to make us better, isn't that obvious. Granted I'll have to get rid of you to make that happen, but such things can be arranged." It said nonchalantly as if it was talking about the weather. "I'll give you once chance to do anything you can to get rid of me, though it won't be so easy to kill yourself, you're too weak." Cupcake put her hat back on, wondering if her idea would work or not. Thankfully, the dopple ganger put her hat back on too. Walking up to the other, Cupcake just smiled. "I don't have to be stronger, I'm already smarter." She said, as she reached up, because the other was indeed taller than her, and grabbed the brim of the other's hat with both hands and pulled down with as much force as she could muster. Cupcake pulled the hat all the way down to the floor, and soon the other was gone, disappeared into the hat. Cupcake smiled and stood, leaving the hat sitting as it was and started looking for the way out. That was when the hat started to smoke and from the smoke came a tiny cake again, but this one had a tiny sugared mushroom on top. Still smiling, Cupcake reached down and plopped the cake into her mouth. Just as before, everything started changing, but in the right direction this time. She found herself just as she was before she had gotten shrunk down. Cake was about to start walking when she noticed something was stuck to her shoe, pulling it off, she noticed it was another card. That was fun. Cupcake thought to herself as she walked away.
OOC
My character's username: Cupcake My character's level: 5 Character's HP: 30 Character's Class: Madhatter Current party: None Current Guild: None Location: Tulgey Woods Small IC description of character:
A skinny girl of average height, Cupcake's eyes are the most attractive thing about her. Mismatched blue and green eyes are rather large on her face and take in everything. A splatter of light freckles cover her cheeks and nose. Light blonde hair full of braids can be seen under the green Mad Hatter's hat.
HotRocks eyes that cake as she was unsure of eating it, but it did look good and thought what the heck and ate it. Once the cake was eaten all the things round her start to get bigger and bigger. Looking up after everything stops growing to find that now the forest around her was massive, sighing slightly as this whole place was just so strange but a little fun too, she thought.
The smoke didn't bother HotRocks even if she had been on fire since where she had once lived was always firey and walks on to see that it was coming from a great mushroom as she looks up at it. Seeing that also on that large mushroom was an equally large caterpillar that is gazes down at her with glowing eyes as it exhales great snakeing wisps of smoke.
Staring right back at the caterpillar as she didn't know what it would do but she wanted to be ready for it if she could.
"Who are YOU?"
HotRocks cocked her head to the side confused as that was a rude question as they didn't know each other to even ask that question. But it did get her to think on the question did she even really know who she was or did she lose some part of her because she couldn't remember her past.
Not watching what the caterpillar was doing as the room fills with smoke that she could no longer see the caterpillar.
'Find OUT," Was all that she heard when the smoke got so thick. HotRocks was totally going to yell at the caterpllar as the smoke started to clear but found that she was in a place that wasn't were the caterpillar was, but sees a door with an exit sign over it and sighs and exits thought the door.
Walking thought the door to find that this room was empty and to one side she could see a long hallway with many doors to them. Ah I have seen that hallway many times before, HotRocks thought walking towards the door across the room as she wanted to know what those doors held but she knew they would be locked for her to find out. Getting to the door that had been across the room and walking towards it, opening it up to walk thought did she hear a different door creek slowly open and she was so tempted to turn around. No she said to herself that she was just deluding herself to thinking one of those doors opened up and walked threw the door she had opened up.
This room was so very different then that last one as there was a room that was well used with rich hangings all around and if rooms could give off feeling this one gave HotRocks the warmth of happiness and it was strange. But then someone she didn't know walked into the room to which he smiled at her and blew her kisses. HotRocks was in a little shock over that as she quickly crossed the room but keeping an eye on the male in the room as he clearly blowing more kisses. Opening up the door quickly and just before exiting she thought that maybe he could be someone she loved, that was a strange word to her and she quickly left this room still a little wondering if she could have stayed to figure things out or something.
HotRocks smiled big when she stepped into this room as she could stay in her for a long time as this room was filled with so much treasure! But she had continued to walk forward as she reached out to grab some of the treasure it was just out of reach. It was all so shiny and she wanted it but anything she tried to touch was just out of reach all the time it didn't mater on how much she waked up to it, it was always not close enough. That walking across the room was pure tourcher as she just wanted to swim in the piles of gold and treasure. Reaching the other door as she peeled her eyes from all the glittering that she couldn't reach as she was very sad as she opened the door and went thought it taking all her mite not to turn back and stay in the room forever.
Looking around this room to see that it was plan unlike the last room as there was just a mirror in it. Watching the mirror to see that someone stepping out of the mirror and it was a herself, well that was just crazy.
Unknown who made the first gestures of challenge as both ran at each other hitting, bashing and biting. Fighting went on for a little while as there was no clear winner yet. No she thought she was stronger than this copy as she was the real one the stronger one and bit down hard on the other self to which it cried out in pain. "I give," it said and once those words were said that other lesser self turned into smoke and into a small cake.
Looking down at it, giving it a little poke and chomping it down hard on the cake and thought it was good. Things shrank around her and now she felt that she was the correct one for at least now.
Oh man thinking that something bad was stuck to her foot and reaches down to see it was just a card and glad that it was just that.
MY STATS
My character's username: HotRocks My character's level: 5 Character's HP: 30 Character's Job Class: Gryphon Current party: None Current Guild: None Location: Tulgey Woods: Caterpillar's Den Small IC description of character: Short dark red hair, black tail, red,a small pair of black/red wings and black claw padded feets wearing the red and blue Gryphon clothing. Pink eyes with black Sclera. Character journal:Here
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2014 5:32 pm
Fang likes cake. There really isn't any question about whether he's going to eat the cake. Of course he is. It's delicious, too. He's not much fazed by the fact that it makes him tiny; after all, he's pretty much used to changing shape and size, even if usually it's not quite this drastic an alteration.
The caterpillar is a surprise. He stares right back at the rude insect, bold and challenging. It asks him a queston, then doesn't give him time to reply before telling him to find out, and that kind of pisses him off, because he had an answer for it, and he actually knows the answer, so why should he have to find out? And it blows smoke in his face, and he sneezes and blinks, eyes watering in the sudden rolling curtain of smoke. Rude. Fang doesn't like rude insects. He really jacking doesn't like rude insects.
The smoke clears. The room that Fang finds himself in is a cluttered and claustrophobic one, ramshackle, the kind of building that grows out of the Junkyard everywhere because this is how ghosts build, a kind of obsessive melding of everything at once, because when you keep what matters it's only natural to make your home and your city out of it. This is an interior room in the marketplace, halfway abandoned, and Fang knows it intimately because this was always his favorite hiding spot.
He walks lazily through it, then stops at the window, because he hears feet pounding down the hallway, light enough to be a child's feet, a ghost's feet, and it makes his hackles rise, because --
-- the child bursts into the room, slams the door, burrows into an oddly shaped corner and backs against the wall and waits, wide red eyes fixed on the door, and in a few minutes it's going to --
-- when the door bursts open and lets in the big, hunched shape, the child growls, baring white, white teeth, pressing back against the wall as though that will somehow bring safety. The shape stomps across the room, draped in its rags and rage, screaming shrilly, "Give it back! Give it back!"
"I didn't take it!" the child shrieks back, and shrinks against the wall.
"GIVE IT BAAAAAAAACK," the ragged-man shrills, and its bony clawed hands dart out to seize the child's arms, to shake the child until something falls out, and --
-- the child falls suddenly back through the wall, shape growing insubstantial enough to pass through, safe, safe, gone from reach to spend the rest of the day huddled inside a solid object until someone comes to find out why there's one too few children at the dinner table.
The ragged-man screams and howls and claws at the wall, but it has never learned to pass through. The child will be safe, if terrified. Fang breathes, and pulls his eyes away, and leaves.
MY STATS
My character's username: Dark★Fang My character's level: 6 Character's HP: /30 Character's Job Class: Caterpillar Current party: - Current Guild: - Location: Small IC description of character: Short male with very pale skin, short messy black hair, and red eyes. He has a red stripe painted on each cheek and one down his nose, and has a white wolf tail and ears. A glowing blue halo circles his head. His Caterpillar cloak is blue and his armor is silver. Character journal:Log
He eats the cake, because you do that, in Wonderland. It's delicate and soft, the kind of cake that just about melts between your teeth, with frosting that sort of glitters, light and fluffy without being that weird gross cheap fluff frosting that you get on grocery store cakes. It's good enough cake to make up for the fact that the grass towers suddenly over him, the height of trees, and he sort of expected that anyway, because, well, Wonderland. He's read the book, so the caterpillar really doesn't surprise him either.
"Who are YOU?"
It's a fair enough question. He takes a deep breath to reply. Sweet smoke swirls into his mouth, tingling and stinging, and he exhales while deciding whether he ought to cough, and by the time he makes up his mind that he doesn't need to he's lost track of what he was saying, and feels kind of weird besides. Like he's not totally sure of the answer, anyway, and maybe there are more of him than he realized.
The caterpillar blows great languid billows of smoke. He can't see it any more.
"Find OUT."
A gentle yellow light glows through the smoke, familiar, and as the air clears he recognizes the room before he can see all of it. The bed has been tidily made, earlier in the day; he always felt some small edge of jealousy that it wasn't a bunk bed like his sisters' bed, over in the next bedroom that connects to this one via a small and always messy bathroom. Room cleaning day is tomorrow, and toys lie on the rug with its printed road map, Matchbox cars and pastel plastic animals stolen out of the other toybox and a set of ancient wooden building blocks; the box of Legos has been put away, though, because stepping on them is worse than stepping on burrs in the yard.
Outside the window, dusk dims toward night. The boy who lives in this room is still young enough that this means bedtime at this time of year. The toilet flushes, the water runs in the sink long enough for some genuine washing to have occurred, and then the door opens and closes behind the brown-haired kid in the spaceship pajamas. He never leaves it open while he sleeps. The hallway door, directly behind InvisibleDog, stays closed as well.
The desk lamp on the bedside table glows steadily. The overhead light has been turned off. In the corner, the nightlight turns on automatically as dusk creeps in the window and darkens the edges of the room. The nightlight is a clear plastic globe, illuminated by a blue LED. It switches on when the ambient light grows low enough. In a year or two, his dad will tell him that he's too old for a nightlight and put it away in the desk drawer. Two years after that, the incident will happen, and after that his therapist will tell his dad that a fear of the dark is a perfectly normal response to such a terrifying experience, and that taking the nightlight away could be damaging.
Now, though, the boy doesn't yet know that his uneasiness about the dark spaces under the bed and between the closet doors has a reason to exist. He's old enough to know he's not supposed to believe in monsters, young enough to believe still, guiltily and secretly. He checks the corners of the bed and the side of the mattress where it butts against the wall, making sure that the blankets are securely tucked, because everyone knows that blankets will keep you safe from monsters. Then he slides into the bed, under the covers.
InvisibleDog jumps as his mother's voice calls from the hallway. "Good night, kiddo."
"Good night," the boy calls back from the bed. He pulls the covers up around his ears and stretches one arm out to fumble for the switch on the lamp's cord. Click, and the warm yellow light is out, leaving only the dim blue glow of the nightlight, the blue light that illuminates the stretch of the floor and the two corners out of four that are not blocked by furniture. Under the bed and in the closet, behind the dresser and under the desk, the shadows grow denser, colder, bluer.
InvisibleDog moves across the room as silently as he can. He grips the knob and lifts the door on its hinges before he opens it, preventing it from creaking. If the boy in the bed can perceive him at all, he doesn't need to be any more scared than he already is. He's no longer scared, not now, not himself, but for the younger sleeper, things will be worse before they're better.
---
The door opens not onto the darkened little bathroom, of course, but onto the John Adams High School band room, with its curved rows of risers and its tangle of music stands off to the side and its dilapidated folding chairs that stand in haphazard curves across the room, roughly aligned to the burnt-orange-carpeted risers and to the sections of the band. The band kind of sucks. The director doesn't give a s**t, and so most of the kids don't either. At least half of them are just in the band for the fine arts credit.
Silence hangs in the band room, the stuffy air currently undisturbed by anyone's presence, except maybe InvisibleDog's, if he counts. He's not at all sure that he does. This is a dream inside a dream, or a vision, or an instance in a game, except that he knows this space can't possibly have been programmed into any game, especially not following the room he just exited. This dream, this memory, this belongs to him. Maybe he counts, then, but the sense of unreal, dreamy distance from the silent space remains.
He looks up at the clock. 2:28, which means that in two minutes, the bell will ring for eighth period and students will start filtering in again. He won't hear any of them before they open the door. To get to the band room at John Adams High School, you walk down two flights of stairs to the bottom floor, technically the basement. The air down here smells of water and limestone, which doesn't really make sense, but that's what it smells like. His locker was down here, which sucked, because he had to fight the crowds to get downstairs to get his stuff and then fight the crowds to get back upstairs in time to get on the bus.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren begins to sound, muffled and faint, and InvisibleDog goes tense and stiff. Oh. It's this day. The air raid siren is just about the only sound loud enough to pierce the layers of earth and concrete that wrap the bottom level in stuffy silence. The air raid siren means tornado warning, and tornado warning means that a tornado has actually been sighted, and every kid in the school is about to be herded down into the basement in semi-orderly lines. They'll wait until the radio gives the all-clear, and usually this is fine.
Today, in another ten minutes, while the crowd of kids chatters in the band room pretending not to be nervous, the power will go out. The teachers will get flashlights out, but the lights will take a full five minutes to come back on, and by the time they do, he'll have had a panic attack bad enough that the nurse will call his mom and he'll go home early. But everyone will have seen him hyperventilating and shaking and curled into a tiny ball, because, at sixteen, he's still afraid of the dark.
He doesn't want to watch that happen. He can hear teachers giving instructions outside in the hall. He turns, opens the door, and leaves.
---
He doesn't recognize the room he's stepped into, except that it's got the institutional look of the dorm building, that particular shade of white walls and the not-quite-cheapo wood flooring that looks like it was installed pretty recently. Familiar-not-familiar. The rugs on the floor look like they might be new, the furniture is a step up from the stuff he's using right now, the room is open and spacious. The quilt lying over the back of the couch resembles his quilt, though, and the backpack under the table looks like his, though he can't be totally sure in the sliver of moonlight that falls through the window.
A warm breeze breathes in through the window where the frame has been left open just a crack. Whoever lives here -- maybe him, he thinks, he guesses -- isn't worried about bugs, and he realizes why when he takes a second look. He's on the second floor now, apparently. That explains the size of the room, too.
The bed has been pushed against the wall, the way he likes it. He left his fear of the dark sliver of space underneath back in his old life; while the remnants of unease rise up to trouble him from time to time, Laz stirs and grumbles and eats up the traces of fear, protective, reminding him that he can fight back. But habit still holds strong, and he prefers to sleep against the solid presence of the wall. When he looks again at the bed, the covers are pulled up, but he thinks he sees two figures curled together.
He smiles a little and turns to leave. Two coats hang beside the door. The glimpse of something that isn't yet but might be is a comforting one, and some of the cloud of dread hanging over him lifts away as he steps back out of this room that is and isn't his.
---
One full-length mirror hangs on the bare wall of the room he steps into. No windows break the plain white walls, no rugs or flooring decorate the plain white floor under his feet. This room has only the mirror. He looks his reflection in the eyes, and somehow it fails to surprise him when the reflection nods and steps forward through the glass, changing as it comes.
The figure that emerges from the mirror seems older, an inch or so taller, rail-thin in a way that suggests both strength and deprivation. His hair has been trimmed close to his skull, and he wears a short, neatly trimmed beard. Something about his eyes makes InvisibleDog uneasy, something tired, something old, something hollow, hollower than the deep purple crescents underneath that suggest he doesn't sleep well, hasn't slept well for a very, very long time.
The other him speaks. "They're real," he says. "You know what I'm talking about. The creatures in the shadows."
InvisibleDog hears, as his other self continues, an echo from his memories, these words spoken to a self not that long ago by a thin man with wire-framed glasses, his eyes intense behind the lenses, leaning forward in his chair and speaking in a low voice. "You're among a small percentage of people," says his other self, "who can see them. You have the potential. You can learn to fight them. They're real." The memory fades as the other, older self shakes his head, gives him a long and empty look. "Nobody will tell you that they're not the ones you should be afraid of."
InvisibleDog sways back, centering his weight on his heels. He can't take his eyes off the other him, who raises his hands to the buttons of his coat now, and InvisibleDog realizes that his cuffs are trimmed with gold and black bars, the sleeves tinted with black. On the sides of the coat, he can see the thin and pointed curves of a moon, or perhaps of the tips of paired scythes. Steady, thin fingers slip the buttons loose, one, two, three, four, and pull the flap aside to undo the zipper underneath that holds the coat closed. The sound of the teeth parting rings loud in the empty room, and InvisibleDog is riveted, frozen in place.
His other self's coat falls unevenly open. He notices, almost as an aside, that something heavy is pulling the right side down. Underneath, his other wears a heavy hoodie with an odd asymmetrical closure at its high throat. He holds InvisibleDog's gaze and lifts his hands to the buttons, one, two, and another zipper underneath that slants down and out towards his shoulder, and that, too, he undoes. His hand holds the fabric closed long enough for his thin chest to rise and fall twice. Then, with a grimace, he pulls it aside.
InvisibleDog stares at the knotted, twisted scar tissue underneath, the ugly, awful ruin of his other self's skin that begins at the base of his throat and slithers down underneath the collarbone, winds down under the fabric of his clothing, extent unknown, and he understands why his other wears his clothing fastened so securely. His eyes return to the eyes of his other, taller, older self, drawn as if by magnetic force.
His other takes a long, flat box out of an inside pocket of his coat, moving slow and deliberate. He opens the box, takes out the dagger inside, holds it up to examine its thick, carved bone hilt, its heavy, sharply tapered blade. Runes crawl brightly along the metal, inscribed with care and expertise. The box drops out of the other's hand. His eyes return to InvisibleDog, who stands frozen, three feet away.
InvisibleDog takes a step backwards. Then another.
His other smiles gently at him. "Laz," he says. "It's time. Are you ready?"
Laz stirs. NO. I'M NOT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? For once, the weapon sounds uncertain, out of his depth.
"Good," says the other self, and InvisibleDog understands along with Laz that his other was talking not to them, but to his own weapon, his own Lazarus. The other takes a firm and careful grip on the knife. In a single swift motion, he plunges it into his own chest. The runes flash brightly, and there is a sound that is not a sound that is almost like the shattering of glass. Blood flowers rapidly around the blade, tracing the twisted knots of scar tissue. The other, still smiling though his face is pinched with agony, works the blade deeper, thin arms straining.
Only when the other sags to his knees and collapses to the floor does InvisibleDog's horrified stasis break. He swallows, tastes bile, scrambles forward to grab the knife. His other is stronger, and the hands locked around the knife's hilt hold it firmly in place as blood pumps steadily out around it, staining the gray hoodie black and the white coat red. It seems to take forever before the other's fingers loosen and begin to uncurl, a small eternity of fighting his own superior strength.
InvisibleDog crumples his other's scarf into a wad of fabric, takes firm hold of the carefully carved bone hilt, and pulls. It takes more strength than he expects to free the knife, and he shoves the scarf swiftly into place over the wound, applies pressure. A viscous wetness soaks through to his fingers in a terrible slow seeping wash.
Rust blooms suddenly on the heavy chain wrapped around his other's wrist, accelerating like a time-lapse video, and in seconds, it crumbles into dust. The other self's chest has stopped rising and falling. InvisibleDog looks to his own older face, and finds his other's eyes open and staring at the ceiling, unfocused and blind and empty as the glassy marbles they resemble. The little smile has faded from his face, and it is only slack, uninhabited flesh.
A blink. A breath of smoke.
InvisibleDog kneels on the floor. His hands and clothes are clean. He does not smell of blood. In front of him sits a tiny china plate decorated with a little lace doily. On it rests a little cake iced in white and gold and black, a tiny red sugar mushroom on top. Numbly obedient, he picks the cake up and eats it. It is gone in three bites, and it tastes of something sweet and awful.
When he gets up, he is in the woods again, and the grass beneath his feet is once again the size it should be.
MY STATS
My character's username: InvisibleDog My character's level: 8 Character's HP: /30 Character's Job Class: Dormouse Current party: - Current Guild: Eat Me Location: Small IC description of character: Tall male with light skin, short purple hair, and hazel eyes. He wears white mouse ears and a pair of tiny white feathered wings. His Dormouse coat is white. Character journal:Log
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