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Entry tags:
- !event,
- athena | borderlands,
- benedict dearborn | original,
- carver hawke | dragon age,
- daenerys targaryen | game of thrones,
- eliot waugh | the magicians,
- ellie | the last of us,
- ivar ragnarsson | vikings,
- lee sung-hoon | duel,
- logan | marvel,
- octavia blake | the 100,
- robbie reyes | marvel,
- ruth aldine | marvel,
- vin venture | mistborn,
- will graham | hannibal,
- william | westworld
BONFIRE LIGHTS IN THE MIRROR OF SKY.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
once more, but with feeling
but they've swapped — himself and Will, the man in the mirror, the voice through a radio, always half a connection. seen but not heard, heard but invisible. that's what they get for giving in to their equal yearning to mesh into each other's spaces; the world flips their settings, instead, and Ben stumbles down into a scene of nighttime, illuminated in a vibrant, silvery glow.
but their mirror fell apart, and Ben has caught just a glimpse of Will entering the void it had left behind, before his own mirror had withered to nothing.
Ben couldn't do it. it whispered to him in voices that burned so familiarly as to ache, and it had just taken Will, too. he nearly crawled in with the hope to follow the other man, but — something about that hole in the wall made the blood in his veins run cold.
pulling himself away was the single hardest thing he's done since arriving here.
and Ben immediately questions his trepidation after five minutes and putting a fair amount of distance between himself and the wall that seemed eager to consume whatever semblance of a connection Ben had made with someone. if it wanted to encourage their connection, wouldn't it finally let them through onto the same plane? topsy-turvy this world may be, but must it really be so contrary all of the time?
that's when the looming fear creaks over Ben, like shadows and structures stretching up and making him feel strangely minute. he thinks, perhaps, he he had just sullied the one open doorway that they had both been looking for.
damn it.
he's thrown out into the wild storm, the one he had been eager to avoid; it rushes up to him like an insistent child, slamming around his shins and capturing him. Ben wades through, water splashing up and tickling his face — he has to find shelter, now, from the storm raging on as it fills every enclosed space. it's a race against this bizarre temperament of his surroundings, pitch black sky and blanched landscape under a still-visible moon, despite the rain and wind.
when Ben climbs for higher ground, he finds a point inside a loft space where a new mirror lies; the water laps sleepily around a circular perimeter, half-hearted in its attempts, as if the floor were at an incline here. Ben clamors for it, where the water doesn't reach, and lets himself collapse onto hands and knees in this bubble of solitude.
another mirror. Ben sighs and leans his back against it — it's warm, and that is the most surprising thing about this current situation. he thinks he wants to turn and look into it, but he wants to just rest for a moment. another person suddenly gone, Ben thrust back into isolation, and now shoved into a new layer of this place. it's exhausting.
the warmth feels...familiar. it twists the tissue and muscle behind his sternum, wistful and nostalgic. it's a warmth not unlike Peter...
and with that warmth, an ember of wanting glows, against the exposed cold air of being alone.
Ben's hearing changes — like pressure releasing in his ears, and suddenly, the warmth has gone. he opens his eyes and it's nearly bright in comparison; when he looks around, the room is bare, exposed concrete of some sort lining the four walls around him, and the ceiling and floor connecting it all. he shifts suddenly, breathing audibly. it's all changed again.
there's a very out of place vintage couch, a tall mirror stood up against the wall, and a few other meager furniture bits. Ben stares, his head swimming, as he sits on the floor.
oh, what new, fresh hell is all of this? )
no subject
Ben sits against the mirror, blocking out the majority of the water-logged storm next to him, and Will sighs. He's leaned over an ancient-looking sink just to interact with the mirror in this room, but there's...not much else to indicate the sort of room he's in. Will looks around, skull prickling with primal warning every time he isn't staring directly at the mirror.
Yellow-gray walls. Water stains, except they trickle up from the floor, beads of water and all. No windows or doors. Just the mirror.
And a relative lack of disrupted, melting, or otherwise nonsensical furniture. Will turns the faucet knobs and can't pretend he's surprised when no water comes out. So when he looks back up and the room beyond the mirror has changed, Will isn't quite expecting it; just a subconscious sense of wrongness that's been triggered more often than not by the scenery here. He blinks. And then realizes that Ben is turning, now, towards the mirror...
Will does the first thing he can think of, and that's to reach forward again, one hand pressed against the mirror, the cracks a familiar pattern under his palm.
Why would he speak just yet, when he knows Ben won't hear him like this, anyway? ]
no subject
( Ben clamors away from the mirror in a burst of movement, twisting and landing on his backside as he'd been sitting. he sighs, breathes, shoulders slumping with relief as his eyes settle on the image of Will over there, on the other end of this mirror.
needless to say, Will's presence was a little bit unexpected! )
Scared the devil out of me... ( Ben grumbles to himself, lower than his typical speaking range, said only to himself. he doesn't know that he can be heard, doesn't think he can speak to Will now that they're back to being separated by mirrors again. Ben hadn't been able to call to Will as he watched him slip away into the threshold, certainly.
he pushes himself up onto his knees, crouched to look through the fine cracks of their new means of seeing one another, and while there is an undeniable glow of distress in his expression...Ben is far more relieved to see Will is all right.
(then again, Ben can't help but feel that he has to hope it's Will... he doesn't like the way the mirror makes his face look uncannily segmented, just out of alignment. who knows what he's truly looking at anymore.) )
no subject
...It's that he can hear him while he sees him. Will stares at Ben - and then spares a moment for his hand, which seems to ache after losing contact with the mirror so quickly - and back up at Ben. ]
Who knew I was an accomplished exorcist. [ The irony is completely lost on Will, of course, as he stands in his bare and water-damaged room and stares back at a very startled Ben. They're at different heights compared to their mirrors, and their rooms are different while still being mostly empty. The same jarring wrongness of the rest of the world is here, but then...
...Why is there such a pull towards this mirror above all the others so far? ]
no subject
it's...usually a joke.
literally, genuinely, the only thing here that saves Ben's dignity is — being struck with the boomerang awareness when it finally occurs to him, that he heard Will speak through the mirror.
Ben rushes up to the mirror, pulled over to sit on his legs, shifting the pane of glass in his hands by its dull frame, leaning in as if to share a secret. his eyes move animatedly over the mirror, over Will's face, incredulous. )
I can hear you— you can hear me. ( manifesting the revelations, cementing them. they can communicate like this; Ben trails blunt fingertips over the cracks like thin veins in the mirror's face, which drift from Will's shoulder, and up, and away. ) I'd love to say we finally found the happy medium... ( haha, get it? medium? it's— really not the time for that. )
But...I think I'm trapped in here. ( Ben doesn't know how he ended up here, and as he scans the room from over his shoulder one more time, he verifies to himself that there is certainly no door, no window, not even a tacky little cinematic air duct. he can't decide if he's relieved for that, or not. ) —What about you?
no subject
Will stays at his sink, though, watching as Ben scrambles - low down, to get a look at his own mirror. ]
...Trapped. Again, yeah. [ Will's expression crinkles with self-deprecating humor, because...yeah, everyone's trapped. Been trapped. That's the exhausting part. ]
If it's just the one mirror in each of our rooms, I guess...this is it. [ A dry swallow. ] Just the two of us. [ And Will reaches forward again, to that broken field of his mirror. It mars Ben's recognizable face into something just slightly alien.
The ripples under his palm and fingers seem to widen, or perhaps pull together, as Will flattens his hand against the mirror. As before, this feels oddly right.
Musing, almost to himself: ] The other one broke on its own. But this one's...stubborn.
no subject
the answer only confirms what Ben expected, though he would have hoped that Will wasn't here under the same restraint. the room — which, as Ben designates in his mind, feels instinctually more like an entity than a place. doesn't it feel like they're being observed?
doesn't it feel as though they were brought here, them in particular, for a reason?
Ben stares openly while Will pushes a hand out, spreading wide and flat against the mirror; usually, he might avert his gaze, keep from gawking, but there really is nothing usual about this. any of it. Ben swallows and listens, intent on Will's observations. he has a way of commentating that Ben has never encountered — he validates that instinct, that this place is alive, some how, and goes so far as to...seem to understand it, to some extent. )
Stubborn, or...
( Ben reaches his own hand out, under a frightfully sentimental whim — if he touches the glass with his fingertips, as he does now, will he feel the heat of Will's palm? are they that close, or impossibly far? ) Perhaps, it's trying to fuse back together?
no subject
Nothing happens. The teacup, already shattered, doesn't pull itself together. But...no. Will feels an ache from inside himself, or— from the mirror itself? Will's mouth is open in a wordless question for several long seconds, staring down at their hands, before he finally looks back up at Ben. ]
Fuse itself? Or fuse the world it's in? The skies are each half of a whole that never shifts... [ Will's sky and Ben's sky; always different, even after they'd switched. Will swallows and then his expression finally creases into pointed confusion, a sort of aching curiosity. ]
Does it feel...like you don't want to pull your hand away? Like you shouldn't want to pull your hand away?
god this got gay
fuse the worlds, the splintered halves of reality, to correct the standstill they have been trapped in. it's more than this room — they've been trapped this whole time. so, what do they do? what are they here for?
Ben blinks, lips slack, visibly relaxed. when was the last time he was at ease? before this place? he would have to think even further back than that. Will dares to ask a question, to remark upon the strangely intimate connection here — connection, finally. it's past due for them, with how many times they have crossed paths now, to only see or to only hear one another. one might say, right now, so close and yet, so far, but it doesn't feel that far anymore. Ben is beginning to forget that there's a barrier between them, that these two rooms are separate. )
...Yes. ( the earnesty in agreeing wells like a blush, impossible to hide or deny. he nods shortly, almost nothing more than a twitch. ) It rather feels like it's what we're...supposed to do, doesn't it?
( like they are so close to fusing their worlds together. Ben lifts his other hand, presses it equally to the mirror, both palms planted with a calm pressure. the mirror feels warm, almost soft, in a way smooth glass doesn't manage. Ben doesn't see how the cracks closest to his fingers begin to...blend, slowly, carefully sealing together. Ben wouldn't know — he isn't looking at the mirror, only through it, and despite the segmented glass playing tricks across Will's face, Ben is starting to see him as whole. )
sure did, buckaroo
And Will's met Ben before, even if they've never been this close to existing in the same space. ] Giving in to the human desire for companionship. [ Mumbled, towards the mirror; towards himself; towards Ben, too, though Will blinks himself a half-step back out of his reverie when he registers what he's said in the context of sharing it.
But...honesty has always been a weapon, but sometimes it can be a balm. Will visibly swallows, watching Ben put up his other hand, flat on the mirror. Will lifts his own slowly, following suit with an instinct that feels younger than most of his hunches do.
Palm to palm. Will can't feel Ben's warmth through the glass, but his own echoes back at him, his body heat warming the glass in an otherwise-cold room. ] I'm still not sure I want to give this...place whatever it wants, [ Will starts carefully, trying to feel his way through tangled intentions and curiosities. ]
But I think I really want...this to work.
no subject
they're perfectly mirrored, and it has him feeling whole...in a way Ben isn't sure he has felt since—
he can't think about it. not that it's painful, or difficult, but the sensation of pain feels blocked in his brain, suddenly. even when Will speaks, 'I really want...this to work,' he doesn't hear Yukito's voice in his ears, and he doesn't hear the foreboding and unspoken 'however' at its end. )
Do you suppose...this world is— ( Ben's face pinches in, uncertain, brow twitching and lip curling up to hide between his teeth. ) ...Trying to give us something? ( give them, show them, teach them? it feels too purposeful. why rip them out of the comfort of something familiar, even if disappointing, and throw them into a mixture of chaos? why do radios whisper back conversations he'd had as a child? why does he see shadows of the things he has invested his life to keep at bay? Ben can't fight the universe, he knows that. he's a modest academic with a weird guardian angel and a singular life, he's not really very special.
is this...why? )
no subject
Embarrassed self-awareness makes Will feel abruptly off-balance, unwanted, except that that reflex has nowhere to truly go. This world - or perhaps it's just Ben, or both - cuts it off like a nerve block. Will's wearing his glasses right now, but he's not trying to avoid real eye contact.
Even though he hears that insinuation, loud and clear. It aches.
Something back home wasn't working. But this place - might. Is that delusional? Will tries, unsuccessfully, to separate the webbed networking of his own thoughts and others'. He stares back at Ben with eyes that go momentarily glossy. ] I don't know if it's...capable of it or not, or why it would try, but...
[ Will shuffles closer, stomach bumping against the sink planted in front of his mirror. ] I think it might be. And...
[ Will looks down at their hands. Flexes his fingers and then relaxes them. Are the shattered pieces of the mirror growing...smaller? As he looks back up at Ben, feeling raw: ] ...I think it might be succeeding.
no subject
see? insane questions, and they haven't the time for them, right now.
Will shudders with realization, and Ben swears he can feel it rattle through the mirror. it prickles in Ben's arms, not from being lifted up, but something more in the surface...like fingertips on his skin. Ben almost has the knee-jerk to apologize, to withdraw, but he knows — it isn't something he inflicted. the realization is at a wound they realized they share, to find t hasn't healed by being covered up.
Will remains connected. Ben remains, too.
it's then that Ben realizes how clear the sight of Will has become, realigned, pieces remerging. his breathing is hastened in a strangely calm way, anxious, but not in any way that Ben knows. he isn't filled with dread, just...anticipation.
he lets his attention shift to the glass itself, nods at the acknowledgement as it slowly knits itself back toward one smooth piece. Ben doesn't know what it means, that the mirror is melting back down, its fractures healing, has not a clue if this will mean anything later. if they can't get out of these rooms, what will it matter?
if they do get out of these rooms, and back out into that nonsense world...what will that matter?
Ben doesn't...care right now. he can feel those questions tumbling around, percolating, but they don't touch him. not at a distance. he spreads his fingers out as Will does, out and back to resting. he breathes in, letting his eyes snap in a reflex to blink. that's all it takes—
the echoes of his breathing change. he opens his eyes, and the lighting is different — dim, very dim, like someone's just shut off a light. he can still see, he can still see Will, but something has changed...
his hands are warmer. Ben twitches his fingers against the mirror and — it's soft. where Will's hands are.
the glass is gone. )
no subject
...Would Will have shared that with him back home, even if he had been around?)
But there's no time for guilty revelations and second-guessing. No, there's only time for watching the window into Ben's world smooth over, watching the mirror un-shatter. The teacup reformed.
Will's eyes burn, because even if he doesn't have any way of concretely communicating with what causes the mirror to come back together again, even though he can't know for sure if the setting is benevolent...it tugs at him. The symbolism is choking.
When he closes his eyes for a moment to center himself, he ends up opening them onto...a new room. Hallway, in fact. Not unlike the labyrinth he'd been in when he pressed forward into the space behind the mirror in the first place.
Ben's in front of him. Will blinks, the shine on his eyes slowly dissipating. ] Is this-- [ '--real?' Will chokes on the rest of it, mouth agape, and then -- he reaches past their joined hands, grips one of Ben's wrists hard just to see if he can or not.
He can. Ben's warm and his sleeve is too, from being in contact with his skin. Will stares at the contact, stunned out of speaking for the moment. ]
'the teacup reformed' i'm equally triggered and heartened
Ben nods, at the thought that aligns simultaneously with Will's question.
he doesn't buck Will's hand off or jerk away, but Ben does twitch at the immediate, earnest contact, a hand wrapping around his sleeved wrist. he almost expects more, something aggressive maybe, but nothing more occurs. it's just them, reeling that they've been given the opportunity to stand before each other, after their number of disjointed encounters. )
Real? I've been asking that ever since I got here. Still haven't decided on an answer.
If any of it is, then I...hope it's this. ( you know, one of the only nice, good things that have happened to him since arriving here. he feels a bit raw about it all, all of that focus to make a connection, to admit why and how; Ben stands stupidly still, one hand still palm-flat to Will's, one lax and held in the man's grip. after an untold, immeasurable amount of time, it feels like it's too soon to let go, but any longer might become...unseemly.
Ben lets his arms lower slowly as nervously looks away — and around, squinting up and down this blank hallway of doors, no signs of telling where any of them lead to. because of course. ) ...Where are we?
no subject
An apology itches and dies on Will's tongue. Sorry, he doesn't say, you're the first person I've been in the same space as. ]
Still here, wherever that is. [ It's the same bland colors, the same blank doors, the same airport carpet worn by weather instead of feet striped unevenly across the floor and then the ceiling, too, when Will thinks to look up at it.
Their hands naturally fall completely apart as they lower their arms, and Will steps after Ben, examining the corridor. It turns up ahead, but gently, with no sudden joint in the wall to be seen.
He presses his flat hand against the nearest door. ] I wonder if this is a reward, or just...a reset.