BONFIRE LIGHTS IN THE MIRROR OF SKY.

[wastemods]

WHO: Everyone in game.
WHAT: Our first event log!
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: After the storms begin.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.

Photo by drainrat

PREVIOUSLY, ON THE WASTEYARD.

The world remains divided into a land where either a hazy sun shines muted light above or a full moon casts silvery shadows below. They hang fixed, as if nailed in place, more like theatrical props than far-off heavenly bodies. And you can still see only one of them, depending on which side you arrived.

Meanwhile, the storm rages.

On both sides of the world, the rain starts and doesn't stop. The temperature drops, transforming torrential rain into icy snow. Gusts of wind become gales and spin detritus into shrapnel, man-made disasters turned natural. Shadows spin wildly—almost comically—in cyclones, before bursting into nothingness; if you aren't careful, the winds will snatch you, too. Out here, the only protection you might have is cooperating with each other.

Indoors, it's certainly warmer, but that just means water doesn't freeze. Buildings flood with chilly water that rises no matter how many stairs you climb. Architecture groans under the pressure of earthquakes, sending more water cascading through the ceiling before it disappears into cracks below. Is anywhere safe?

Well, yes. One place, splintered into many. The mirrors in ash-gray frames stand sentinel, scattered throughout the world. They emit warm light from the other side; sunlight spills moonside and moonlight reflects sunside. Water impossibly flows around and away from them, leaving behind untouched earth that stays still and silent. Standing in front of them gives you a respite, a tiny bubble of safety to wait out the worst.

INTO THE LABYRINTH.

Once you plunge indoors—unless you're really that determined to take your chances in the storm—you'll find every building with electricity experiencing a brownout. The overhead lights flicker and radios crackle with static, warbling broken news reports and tunes. They eavesdrop on strings of Morse code and private confessions on ham radio. If it's ever been broadcast on the airwaves, public or personal, you might hear it if you tune to the right station; you might even hear yourself, replaying a conversation you've had or will have. And sometimes the audio seems pointed, preternaturally so, as if tuned to your own thoughts and words.

Meanwhile, the waters continue to rise. The halls stretch long, seemingly infinite and twisted into knots. In some of them, no matter how far you walk, it seems like you never get any closer to the end; in others, you hit one dead end and can't stop hitting dead ends, no matter how many times you retrace your steps. None of that's unusual.

But if you delve deep into dark enough recesses (whether accidentally or intentionally), the world calms. The water recedes. Mirrors materialize in the dead ends, scratching out an "X" in the frame before your eyes. If you touch one, the glass falls away in ribbons, flowing like quicksilver and fleeing farther into the darkness. It reveals a hole on the other side, so deep a black it looks flat. Wherever it goes, it's so dark you can't see the other side.

And that's when you hear a sound like someone inhaling and then exhaling, steadily breathing around you. No...you feel it. A presence that has no form no matter how hard you look, but follows you in creaks and groans. It feels like being stalked by a monster in a maze.

Running from it only intensifies the feeling. Attacking makes it even worse. Calm acceptance is the only way to lessen or even neutralize it, but that's something you'll have to discover for yourself. In the end, there's no way to defeat it. You have to trust your instincts and believe it's there, despite the fact that you can't see or touch it.

CHANGING SIDES.

Elsewhere, it starts as a smell.

As the ground shudders and cracks, the stench of rot comes from the fissures. Mirrors and windows melt off walls, and a strong sense of vertigo comes and goes, like cresting waves. Looking out a window shows buildings and bridges breaking off of the labyrinth and drifting—or plummeting—away. They dissolve into nothingness as they vanish into the abyss, like they were bathed in acid. The already fragile world is falling apart.

It comes with a pervasive sense of wrongness, perhaps ironic in a world where everything is already wrong. But that's when it happens: You look up and realize you're no longer where you started. The sun or the moon, whichever you expected, is no longer in the sky. Instead, on the horizon lies its opposite.

It's a phenomenon unique to areas with high concentrations of ash mirrors and hallways, particularly when there's someone else on the other side. Sometimes the instability flips your positions, so one of you is now in the dimension where the other previously stood, while other times it drags you both together into the light of the sun or moon. It's like you resonate, magnets attracting or repelling each other in little pockets of peace.

THE LOCKED ROOM.

Amidst the chaos, as the world shifts and there's no telling where or when you are, you slip through a crack. Or maybe you're a weirdo who climbed through the hole left behind a mirror.

In either case, the fissure is both literal and metaphorical, influenced by the unstable world and your actions. Maybe you step through a door, crawl through a crevice, close your eyes, or do something else to take you between here and there. Whatever the case, you find yourself in a room unlike any others you've seen in this distorted world. Well...once you look closer, anyway. On the surface, it may just be another kitchen, ballroom, or cellar.

But in these rooms, it doesn't matter which side of the divide you were on. Not only because you can't see whatever lights the sky, but because they lie between dimensions. There are no windows and no doors; you'll only find walls the same mottled gray as everything else in this place. Attacking them gets you nowhere. Any damage is there and gone, like the erased moments between flashes of a strobe light. There is no easy way out.

But there is a mirror. Hairline cracks run through its surface, shattering a single reflection into multitudes. Set in an ash-gray frame like so many others, it's left somewhere in the room, whether hanging on a wall, haphazard on the floor, or leaning against some furniture. It emanates the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. Turning away doesn't help; you can feel it gazing at your back.

The haunted feeling only subsides when you stare back. And you should stare back, because these mirrors are your escape route. Staring into them will reveal someone on the other side with the same predicament. Surprisingly, you can hear each other when you speak. It even comes translated if you don't speak the same language, although your mouths still sync to your native tongues. It's like a poorly dubbed movie.

Touching the mirror gives you the impression it's somehow leeching off you, trying to fill those cracks. Try to pull your hand away and you'll find it's a little difficult, like unsticking your tongue from a cold pole. Moreover, you'll feel a compulsion to tell the truth, to do something real.

THE GREAT ESCAPE.

For those of you left behind where the sun and moon still shine, keep an eye on your own mirrors, especially broken ones that seem to be influenced by something invisible. They display a room that most decidedly isn't your own, acting more like a window than a mirror. And whoever's inside, trapped, might call on you for help. You won't be able to hear them, though, so how are you with body language?

Meanwhile, for escapees...

No matter how you escape the rooms, you might notice something a little strange once you get back to the labyrinth. Well, stranger. For a brief window of time (one that grows longer with each room you escape), you'll discover the sun and moon occupy the same sky. The area you've entered is a temporary nexus of sorts, one that fuses the dimensions into something that almost seems stable.

It feels right, but the world isn't strong enough to hold itself together for long.

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Comments

002, as discussed 👀

[fumitory]

( it's maddening — Ben can't scrutinize the walls of this room for long before that feeling of dread builds up his back, cold, claws dragging at skin. he feels observed, put on the spot, a sensation made worse by the pure knowledge that Ben doesn't have a damn clue what he's doing here.

he looks for any seams in the walls through the dim, holding a white feather in his right hand. in itself, the feather holds a gentle light, perhaps just barely visible in a well-lit room or under midday sun, but here, it glows admirably. his concentration goes in spurts between stubborn inspection, and flashes of paranoia, disorienting when his attention gets pulled out from underneath him.

it doesn't feel real — which is the understatement of the century, yes — but when Ben thinks it, it's genuine. something about this room feels odd, too deliberate, fabricated. it carries more intention than the assembled chaos, a collection of what feels unwanted.

why else does he feel like he's being watched, like this?

eventually, after long enough of muttering to himself in the silence, hushed and under his breath...Ben hears a voice. he strains to listen, alight to realize that the words are in English — that's a relief.

except...is it? he wonders as he strings them together, and... well, that isn't disconcerting or anything. )

Who are you talking to?

( accusatory, and leveled with the calm handling of a man who seems plenty comfortable in his standing to be saying such a thing. authoritative, despite quivering with something tense at the edges.

out of instinct, Ben turns toward the mirror, affixed to the wall where wallpaper spills sadly away in weak strips and curls. in Ben's shockingly extensive experience with mirrors, he's learned first-hand that they haven't allowed voices through, so please do pardon him for standing like an idiot in front of his. in view, he still holds the feather, a small beacon, like a matchstick in the dull space. ) I'm here, I suppose. ( to answer your question. )

[calculo]

( robbie doesn't realize how much he wants to recognize that voice until he doesn't. he wants to hear gabe's familiar voice or someone from shield or even his uncle's but no. this voice isn't familiar and it isn't happy.

well, he can join the goddamn club. robbie can feel anger stirring up low in his gut, clawing at his ribs and trying to burst out. fighting the demon down is almost always impossible which means being able to do it right now is a testament to whatever this place is.

he swallows and it tastes like bile. like ash. )

Who are you?

( you're the one here so he's talking to you, ben. but, he doesn't know if that's true. while ben sounds irritated, his voice doesn't jab its way underneath robbie's fingernails like the previous feeling had. it's different. )

Where'd you come from? ( he takes a few steps towards the voice. it's so dark that he can't even see his shoes. how big was this room? where was the door? where was anything? )

[fumitory]

( Ben isn't sure that he's meant to feel this intimidated by the other presence, alas — tension of anticipation builds between Ben's shoulder blades, a familiar sensation, the swelling of gravity that precedes a storm. Ben breathes in, slow and measured for every centimeter that his lungs expand. he doesn't like how this feels as familiar as it does.

well, if he answers the questions, co-operate, then it may lead them forward. )

Er— ( Ben sighs, a short breath, one that anyone could label as a sound conveying the feeling being stumped. he wishes that introductions like this could happen under vastly better circumstances. ) I'm...Ben.

Do you want the long answer, or the bleak answer? ( one is Ben's impromptu spoken-word biography; the other is likely relatable, but incredibly unhelpful. he strides closer to the mirror, looking at the fine cracks that line it like invisible lightning. he holds the feather up to it, like a firefly on a summer night, as he traces the fractures in the surface of the mirror. Ben has learned that these tend to act as doorways, but even then, history can't prepare him for what can possibly be looming just beyond. )

[calculo]

( is either answer going to get them out of there? probably not. but, it's something of a distraction, something that he can focus on that's not the demon inside of him trying to claw it's way out. this would have been helpful when he was wandering around this place, confused and lost but no.

this thing has bad timing. )

Bleak answer.

( he'll save the long answer for when they're not trapped in some black void. his breath gusts out of him, a sound that sounds so loud to his ears. reaching out, his hands scrape along another wall and find no purchase, no way out. )

That seems to be my default these days.

[fumitory]

( yeah, that's fair. Ben can hear the hand drawing along the wall, and something instinctual matches an image to it, and it aches with a relatable longing to find a way out. his stomach tightens, like a cold, little rod digging into his core. don't panic, keep calm, you can't think clearly if you don't remain calm... )

I was living a relatively normal life— ( 'relatively' being the operative word, there... ) —and was plucked out of it all to wake up...here. One minute, I was out in the labyrinth, and the next...

I'd tell you where I was last before I was suddenly in this room, but...that hardly matters, doesn't it. ( note the utter lack of inflection there. Ben watched someone climb into the gap where a mirror had stood, but he refused to do the same. he can't tell if this world is now punishing him for resisting the path, or...if there was no choice at all.

Ben peers through the mirror and notices...movement. it's so subtle, a shifting of darkness, and he focuses in on it. he nearly catches a flickering, like ashes at the end of a cigarette, but...no, he doesn't see it. it could be anything, but it could also be... )

—Is that you, over there? ( Ben flicks the glowing feather across the mirror, vying for the other man's attention. ) Look around, can you see me?

[calculo]

I don't know if I'd describe being in a labyrinth as normal. ( that sounds like something straight out of a movie that gabe used to make him watch on nights when he didn't have to work late. it wasn't something you just found out in the world. not where he was from, at least. it was for halloween funhouses and carnivals.

but, the way ben speaks makes it sounds like it's as common as going to the corner store for something to eat. )

It doesn't matter because I bet wherever you were isn't there anymore.( this place constantly changing was probably his biggest annoyance. places weren't supposed to move. they stayed in one place while people moved around them.

he breathes out raggedly, feeling that anger still pulsing through. so, when ben calls out and asks him to turn, he does. his eyes are still glowing a faint orange, not as bright as they can, but definitely unnaturally for a man who purports to be human. )

I can see you. Or I can see...something.

[fumitory]

( Ben can't help but laugh a little, a small scoff, more hollow and visceral than amused. yeah. he can't help but agree with that sentiment. 'normalcy' seems to be a joke in this place. worst part is, Ben isn't very good with humor.

the other person turns, regarding their connecting mirror finally, and all that Ben is treated to is — the sight of two little, but intense lights, living embers in the dark. Ben stiffens, straightens; his mouth shuts tight from being relaxed, and Ben lowers the feather in his hand. suddenly, he realizes that it never occurred to him...that someone he might encounter here might not be human. Ben hasn't laid the gavel on the matter, but it widens the scope of possibility — there are people beyond what he himself is...and it's brutally humbling.

whatever this man possesses, human or not, is compelling. Ben swallows, fighting against a dry throat. he likes to think he isn't to base as to make assumptions on appearances, but the man's voice has been tense the whole exchange through. this...feels like confirmation, a reflection of fraying nerves.

Ben can relate. ) I didn't catch your name. ( said with a curiosity, because he knows it wasn't given. minutes ago, all Ben could think about was to find the gotcha detail in his room, a trick door or a key, something...

but now, standing at the mirror, all he feels content to do is...to talk. is it really so strange? spending such stretches of time without interaction, shouldn't he be a little social-starved? except that...Ben isn't sure he could move away from the mirror right now, even if he wanted to. magnetic, like pulling him helplessly on a line. this feels important, it feels important to connect with the person beyond this threshold. ) Where were you, before all..of this?

[calculo]

Robbie. ( and that is the truth. while the spirit of vengeance is trying to crawl its way out, he's still mostly in control. he hasn't completely slipped away only to be replaced by a demon hellbent on killing those that deserved it.

so, he's still robbie. he's still here and he's still talking to this man on the other side of the mirror. because he sees it now and if he sees it, that means the other person sees him. he looks away. it's too late to hide his eyes but that doesn't stop him from trying. )

Los Angeles. ( it's where he wishes he still was. he hates that he can't see gabe, doesn't know if he's okay. ) Where were you before all this? In a labyrinth?

( one good turn and all. he turns his face back towards the mirror and his eyes still burn, bright and unblinking. he needs to get out of here. )

[fumitory]

All right. Robbie. ( it feels important to say, to echo, to let it become familiar to him. it feels like the first puzzle pieces snapping together, but it equally frustrates Ben, with nothing physical to connect with his own handiwork. it isn't like him, not one who traverses conundrums with eagerness, but this feels so much more...visceral. it's difficult to want to think when instinct wants to take over. )

Los Angeles — never been. ( mild and musing; talk to him about the south and east any day, though. ) I was, um...well, I live in London. ( here is where thinking does not always provide the correct response: Ben says he lives in London, says it to cement the knowledge, that which may only be fated for nothing more than a memory. he should hold onto his memory, his life, present tense, not past.

except that it...feels already like another person's life. like coming here was waking from a dream. Ben pauses as it washes over him, the sensation that he didn't fit there to begin with. he never really did.

but how does he fit here? how do any of them? )

I'd just come back from Japan, actually. Working trip. ( sort of. ) I'm rather sure I was just sat at home, with the cat, who...I pray isn't furious with me going away.

( Ben is sharing an awful lot, isn't he...not that he is ever so brutally secretive, but it...just spills out. he looks up from his pensive haze and sees he's lifted his hand up to the mirror, the cracked glass. just where a fracture point is, in fact — as if all of the cracks radiate out of his palm like a halo. )

[calculo]

( while ben talks, robbie moves closer to the mirror. is it him moving or is it the demon? is he trying to hear the words better or is the demon trying to get himself close enough to do something? but, as far as he knows, this man hasn't done anything. he's not a threat so there should be no danger.

except all bets are off here and if the rider feels threatened, he will react. he'd been caged before and it had not gone well. )

Never been to either of those places. ( he's close now, close enough to see the fractured mirror and the man beyond it. he could smash his hand against it and reach through...

robbie shoves the thought away and breathes hard. ) What kind of work takes you there?

( normal conversation, mundane conversation. it won't help. he's only making things worse for himself. he can feel the fire licking its way up his back, heat heat heat and soon enough, it's going to be visible to ben as well. )

[fumitory]

( the glass has warmed under Ben's palm, comfortably, but as Robbie approaches, he swears that the mirror glows with...just a little more warmth. not aggressively, in fact, so subtle as to be only curious, rather than alarming.

Robbie is closer now, close enough to see his face fully, and Ben had rather hoped that the appearance of orange-glowing eyes was mistakenly sinister; now that the man is near, it's easy to take in his entire face. he looks...conflicted, tense. Ben swallows, staring openly, but what else does one do when speaking face to face? Ben can't look away; looking here is the most relief he's been granted to feel since landing in this mysterious trap.

a question is leveled at him, and...Ben pauses. he knows what he would say to deflect the path, always done to keep himself out of trouble, whether it be with skeptics, or the church. )

...Research. ( it's not wrong, but it's equally I complete. Ben says it as if testing it, like tasting it, to see if it's palatable. it's slightly off, in flavor. ) I— study some rather esoteric cultural phenomena, and...help people, when I can. If snakes manifest in your home, I'm somewhat of a mongoose for hire. If...the mongoose were there to reinforce the house, more than anything.

( one can probably watch the cogs spinning behind Ben's eyes, or the glowing moment of self-awareness just before he scoffs at himself, gaze turning downward. ) Sorry, that was— a terrible metaphor. ( genuinely embarrassed, but it doesn't shatter Ben. almost as if he knows better than to try and be funny. it's not his strongest suit. )

[calculo]

You're making yourself sound like an exterminator. ( not that that's a bad thing but robbie's observant enough to know that it's not the full truth. he's not the guy that shows up to exorcise you of your termites or your bedbugs.

he leans closer to the mirror, close enough that his breath fogs the glass like that might be able to see what ben really is. the glass heats more but robbie barely feels the warmth. he spends a lot of time on fire so it doesn't tend to bother him. )

You don't look like any exterminators I know. ( which probably means he's not. not in the strictest sense of the term. ) How you gonna help the people here?

( inquiring demons want to know. )

[fumitory]

( Ben's expression flickers like a candle under a breeze; it feels like an accusation, a cutting one, but it's moreso the wording than the intent. this man opposite of him feels intense, but what he says...doesn't burst with anger. Ben swallows, parts his lips to insist otherwise, but the remarks continue.

he leans into the glass, as well — an urge that is difficult to fight, much less question. it feels...pertinent, to mirror the other, not to copy him, but to...sync up with him?

the question is a little heart-wrenching. Ben doesn't even know how to help himself here, but has no issue helping others, which in itself can be a double-edged sword. ) ...Any way that I can. ( his voice is low, as if leant in to tell a secret, because their proximity does feel close enough to say that they are. ) I...help guide people back to themselves, people who...have become captive to other forces. Ones that seek to hurt them — I help cast them out. That's all. ( because Ben has briefly met others, ones touched by spirits and entities, ones who have made pacts. in a symbiotic setting, neither is a victim. one must be strong enough to sustain the connection, that relationship.

but not all demons play fair. in fact, many don't. )

I'd do for anyone else what I would wish could have been done for myself. ( past tense, achingly candid, and Ben doesn't even realize, not when the mirror's surface under his hand almost feels...buoyant. )

[calculo]

( outwardly, there's very little reaction from robbie. he's listening though. he's listening but, unfortunately, so is this thing that rides along with him. and he knows that the only way he's going to rid himself of the demon is if he fulfills the deal he made and he's not even close. the demon wants to kill, thriving on blood and death, and it's been too long since he's had it.

his eyes shift from dark to bright again, staying that way for several long moments while he says nothing. )

Done for yourself? ( it's robbie's voice. he's still there and he's curious about that. ) You had something you needed guiding back from?

[fumitory]

( there's the change — Ben couldn't have known, having just met the man, but it barely takes glowing eyes for him to sense it, how the tone shifts when he responds again. (then again, glowing eyes are rather prominent.)

but it isn't what Ben is used to, not from demons. Robbie isn't speaking in tongues, or bending backwards, or saying obscene things, or muttering with paranoia. he's present, he's inquisitive. if he is in the presence of something otherworldly, a conclusion Ben hasn't fully committed to despite the evidence, it must be...a higher being, than the sniveling wretches that feed on the anxieties and the tender spots in a person's mind, turning that person against themselves. in the end, that person's greatest tool is themselves, once they can regain themselves from being slowly eroded away. )

Not...me. Someone close to me. And I couldn't help them. I don't want anyone to have to go through that sort of hell. So I help...who I can. ( because Ben can't save them all, not everyone. don't worry — plenty of these malicious, lesser-demons have reminded him of that. they're particularly eager to voice it. )

What about you? What...do you do?

[calculo]

( well, that answer depends on who you're talking to, ben. for a long moment, robbie says nothing, his eyes continue to glow while he inwardly tries to keep the rider at bay. it's difficult, more and more with each passing moment. )

Mechanic.

( that was true. that's what robbie did. )

Kind of pointless here, isn't it? ( nothing to repair. ) Guess I'll have to look for something else.

( he did have that night job but no one wants him to take that up. not here. not with so few people around. )

Some people are beyond saving.

[fumitory]

( mechanic, pointless? perhaps, perhaps not. honestly, it's a more applicable skill than banishing demons, thus far. Ben has seen both junked machines and things ranging through semi-functional. he wouldn't know the difference between working and not-working, if you showed him a machine.

but that's a debate for people outside of these joined rooms; if they can't get out, then none of that will matter. no pressure or anything, Ben.

the debate currently at least manages to be more in Ben's wheelhouse. whether that's a good thing or not, it's difficult to say. )

That's doubt.

( said simply, matter-of-fact. in fact, it's said like a belief, like knowing that the sun rises and sets everyday (if you're on earth, at least.) ) Doubt like that doesn't exist naturally. The self-defeating kind is like a...a parasite. Something that steal your energy and will away from yourself. ( Ben knows what tools demons use, and they're not always tools that are exclusive to them; humans are fantastic at harming each other, and this sort of self-doubt is like a burr in one's skin. it's there, and just needs only a gentle push to cause harm. )

The only one who can decide that fate is... ( well, Ben can't help from making this sound rather cliché, no matter how long he pauses. ) Yourself. People don't know it, but they're often more powerful than they think they're allowed to be.

( you're talking to a guy who made a life on studying and playing referee on the reclaimation of one's own self. he isn't saying that this sort of thing is easy, but it's meant to be every bit as empowering as it sounds, cliché or not. )

[calculo]

That's already been taken from me, amigo. Fate and destiny and all those philosophical things that you're talking about? They don't exist for me anymore. And before you try and reassure me, don't.

( it's pointless. futile. he existed to fulfill his end of the deal that kept his brother alive. that was it, that was all. )

You don't know me. ( consider yourself lucky. ) I barely know me anymore.

( who was he but a guy that carried around a demon and let him out to kill people? ) What we should be talking about is how to get out here before it's too late.

( for what, you may ask? take a guess. )

[fumitory]

( the kickback is expected. not that it's ever any easier to watch, and it even has Ben glancing down, seemingly to avoid gawking as Robbie responds. it's not that Ben is a sentimental sort of person, or even a spiritual one. the phrases 'fate' and 'destiny' could give him hives, honestly. it's not that he believes in a man in the sky sitting in a cloud kingdom, rather — Ben has more often found more power in the people he deals with than the confounding entities that target them. in the end, it's all a game of leverage. )

I'd say if you're standing here on your own two feet, able to speak for yourself...you're doing rather all right. ( it's a flat encouragement, stated like an ingredient in a recipe. everything Robbie says is so inherently human and that is always a good sign.

Ben feels momentarily bashful at where the conversation has lead; it felt too easy to talk about all of this... almost as if it were pertinent in this room, at this moment. )

This might sound daft... ( Ben basically functions under the expectation that what he says comes off as odd to most. ) But doesn't it seem as though...

( Ben's looks over his shoulder again, around the entranceless, windowless room, and back to Robbie. ) That's...part of this whole, nonsense plan? No trap doors, no false walls. Nothing but a mirror, one we can speak through. ( which is strange in its own right. Ben has used them to communicate before, and they never allowed conversation until now.

and Ben can't help but feel as though...they haven't been wasting time, this entire time. )

—The cracks. They've... ( begun to disappear. not completely, but as Ben shifts on his feet, he realizes how clear the fractured image of the other man has become. his hand, that had been resting here on the glass, traces the fine lines that still haven't managed to melt themselves back together, just yet )

[calculo]

( someone was optimistic. had robbie ever sounded like that even before the rider? he doesn't think so. there hadn't ever been reason. he'd had to anchor himself in reality and optimism had no place in a reality like his. )

So, the mirror's the key.

( it has to be. if the mirror's the thing, maybe they can use it to get the hell out of here. they have to do something before he loses his grip. already, he can feel the fire licking up its spine, burning but not actually destroying his jacket. he takes a breath, trying to ignore the feeling of skin slowly peeling away at the back of his neck. )

If it's the only thing that's out of place, it has to be the mirror. ( but what the hell could they do with a mirror that would get them out of here? )

[fumitory]

( the cracks have begun to reform, but how? Ben had spent his attention on talking to the other man, as they prompted each other to reveal themselves, bit by bit. Ben draws fingers over the fine cracks, too smooth to register against the pads of his fingertips. what changed? )

But it isn't quite a mirror...at least, not right now.

It's acting like a window. ( Ben glances around the edges of it, because it's not reflecting anything. nothing about them acts like a mirror, so why did they presume it to be? by expectations laid out by themselves?

it means Ben has to stop and look again. he blinks his eyes shut, very briefly, and looks over the framing one more time...looks across to Robbie, again. )

It's not the mirror that's reflecting anything...

It's us. ( they were reflecting, the both of them, in the way that one does to peer inside at themselves. looking at themselves, and conveying the images they see. flawed images though, aren't they? under the fractures of bias. ) We're the mirrors.

[calculo]

What?

( they're the mirrors? that doesn't make sense. it's illogical and nonsensical and how would it even be possible? the mirror is the mirror. )

How do you figure that? If we're the mirrors, what are we reflecting? I see you and I see some of the room you're in. You see me.

( and he'd seen some of what robbie was trying to fight turning into. the longer this went on, though, the more likely it was he'd run out of energy. )

If it's a window, climb through it.

[fumitory]

( for a moment, Ben struggles; Robbie repeats the fact of the matter, yes you're getting it, then seems to...not. too literal. ah, that's the obstruction. ) I mean— in essence. It's a window in that it's showing us one another. We're reflecting something back to each other. We are acting as mirrors. ( and that act has done something to the glass standing between them. )

Look at the glass. It's...nearly fully repaired. If it was meant to be shattered...it wouldn't be coming back together. ( at least, he hopes. he hopes dearly. please, strange world, give him this one moment of logic.

they have to follow the cue, the change. it's all they have to work with. they've nearly accomplished something, here. Ben's palm flattens down at shoulder height over the glass, lined like the vestiges of a spider's web, fine and minute. ) Come closer, put your hand on the glass. ( if they're the mirrors, then what can mirroring each other accomplish? he doesn't know how literal this needs to become, but worst possible answer is that nothing will happen...and as far as bad results go, that's pretty forgiving. )

[calculo]

( he hesitates at first, still leery of getting too close to anyone even with a wall and a mirror between them. but, he doesn't want to be stuck here either. and he doesn't have any other idea besides letting the rider take over and trying to physically force his way out of here.

so, after a breath meant to calm him, he steps closer and puts a hand on the glass. the black of his glove is still hot to the touch but the fire isn't licking its way down his arm for the moment. his eyes are dark again, shifting away from the bright orange. )

Feels like a prison goodbye. ( the hand to the glass and all. )

[fumitory]

( Ben understands the hesitation, because he realizes well how silly this looks; he nods, as if to wordlessly say, 'yes I know, please humor me.'

when Robbie finally digs down and cooperated with the half-baked request, lifting his hand to the glass, Ben is surprised at what greets him through the barrier: heat. it's a stark temperature, dampened only in intensity and swiftness by the glass between them. it glows forth, feeling like a sun-baked stone, and Ben wonders if it would burn if they were to shake hands.

whatever Robbie possesses...is powerful. Ben doesn't like to think of it as whatever the man 'is,' because he is whoever he is. Ben doesn't believe what is additional to him is enough to redefine him.

but then, Robbie's remark has Ben scoffing short and sudden, struck with unprecedented surprise. he doesn't find it worthy of humor, of course; rather, he reels. )

—I wouldn't know. ( said apologetically. Ben can make an educated guess as to why Robbie thinks so. Ben doesn't like to think about guessing what side of that kind of goodbye this other man has been on.

maybe instead of a goodbye, this world intends it to be a greeting?

Ben is just quick enough to catch the last of the cracks melt into each other, as if the glass were water, seeping back to something clearer. when he looks at the other man, flickering like an ember, Ben voices a thought: )

I think it's clear that this...entire world is forcing us out of our expectations. Making us look at things differently.

I suppose we'll start to look at ourselves differently, too.