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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.
no subject
If that's the case, this world dampening her has definitely given her a raw deal, if she can't see.
Will isn't shocked to hear the explanation, in the end. He nods before he remembers that doesn't translate, wincing into a shrug. ] Well, I don't have a gun here. [ Not terribly comforting. It's meant as a joke, even though it's flat. ] And I've got no reason not to trust you. [ Not 'like you', which is different and a lot, but...trust might be even more important, with all of them trapped here. ]
Um. [ Will's already crowded up close to his mirror, but he almost feels like he ought to lean in nearer, lower his voice. He resists the urge to do either. ] We...talked. About each other, and about how this world might have...picked us.
And we were touching the mirror at the same time. It...there's cracks in mine, and probably in yours, I don't know if you touched it yet. They...
The mirrors fixed themselves. And then we were back in the labyrinth together. [ The last word of which is said almost reverently. Will hadn't expected any of that to work, earlier. ]
no subject
You still think, sorry, think it's thinking. [That it has brain enough to choose people, personality enough to have preferences.
She...she can't deny the possibility. Don't their surroundings have moods? Angry shadows, hungry glass, frustrated doors. Even if she didn't hear it when she tried...she'd been sick then. She might not have heard actual voices when she was in that state, for all she knows.
Ruth strokes a hand over the mirror, finds the hairline cracks he speaks of. Her fingertips rest on one of the breaks, rubbing back and forth over the two broken pieces of glass.]
If please, if it thinks...we should talk to it. Pardon.
fun fact: will's main complaint about other people is 'eye contact' so, uh, congrats ruth??
But-- oh. He sits back a bit, only in an unconscious shifting to think better. ] I do. It-- it reacts. It does. Whether or not we can reason with it, or if it's...benevolent or not, I don't know, but...
[ Will reaches out too, instinctively flattens his palm immediately against where Ruth's hand is. The ribbons of cracks stand out starkly against his palm, a small threat of cutting his hand if he moves too abruptly. ] But talking to it would be a good start.
[ If he talked to her over the radios before, then... ] Do you think you can?
bad news, ruth still faces forward, lmao
She thinks over the experiences she's had here. They haven't been nearly as meaningful as his, from what he says--but maybe there were pieces she missed. Too sick to notice, too cut off to see.]
I...pardon. I might be able. [At home, it wouldn't be a question. But here, the world around them might have something to say about being prodded. It hasn't liked her looking at it, let alone trying to find a way inside.] It might...hm. Yes. No. Might make me sick.
[But there's nothing in her tone that says that's a dealbreaker.]
no subject
—And here she is, looking willing to do it. Will notices the lack of lines on her face, how young she looks. ] Which means I've got— some idea about how bad of an idea this might be, but...
[ But. Will stays with his hand pressed against the glass. ] Is there anything I could do to— help you?
no subject
(You know, if they were likely to talk about it.)
What she likes about him is the sounds of his voice. What she likes more is the words he uses, the cautious sentiment in them. There's something about him that does seem more professor than police, something familiar.
After a few moments, considering his question in silence, she answers.]
Keep me from dying. Thank you. Yes.
no subject
Unless it wasn't a choice at all, of course. Does strength enter into it, like with this girl's powers...?
But it's her nature that captures Will's attention, even more than the distracting obsession with this puzzle of where they've been deposited. ] I will. I'll try. [ He means it, and presses his other hand to the glass, where it settles with a light bump. The cracks are still a tangible thing, webbed under his palm. ] But you—
You're awfully willing to risk yourself. [ Like she's used to it. The thought isn't a kind one to have. ]
nb: references to suicide and murder in this tag, potentially likely through the rest of the thread
She shouldn't be so willing to throw herself into the thoughts of this place, if it has any. She has to go home, die there, ensure that everything happens the way it's supposed to--the only way it can, given the alternatives she's seen. That purpose has been enough to keep her from feeling stymied by the way she fell into this place in the first place: Escape, and you can draw your bath and find the razors. Escape, and you can end things the way you wanted, the only way that doesn't involve bullets or flames or boots stamping your face - forever.
Hearing him say it means having to think about it, though--the fact that the idea of using too much of her own power, of dying by her own hand in the wrong place and found by the wrong people, doesn't bother her very much. She's quiet a moment too long.]
The place I, pardon, my high school...yes. We were trained for missions. [That's true. That's not why.] I'm not no n-not a fighter. Yes. But.
[But I can do this. Find things, then let others fight--usually. Not the reason. Ability, curiosity, they're reasons to wonder, not reasons to commit.
Logan's here. He knows what matters--that he has to go back, and he has to right everything she's seen and can't fix--enough so that if she never sets foot in Brooklyn again, he'll still do what needs to be done. Not the reason, not entirely.]
There's worse ways to die. Sorry. I've seen 'em.
[That's why. So many weeks--months?--spent with time twisting around her, her head full of pasts and futures she can't tell apart. The endless visions of capture and execution, every ending that comes from saying no when men in uniform demand to use her up and toss her aside. Coming here has made her safe--by some measure--but it's drained away the abilities those men had wanted to wring from her anyway.
She's exhausted, and she's not strictly necessary. The thought of ending here...it doesn't seem so bad.]
go wild, my friend
Soldiers? [ Child soldiers. Will doesn't have the the us/them prejudice of Ruth's homeworld, and even being told that mutants and humans are different can't get past the way he sees humanity in her, so his first thought isn't horror at how different they are from humans if they're raising their young to battle in high school. No, it's a bone-deep coldness towards what humans do to each other.
His horror is tempered only a little — not by her lack of fear, because she has some. But by the way fear isn't enough to stop her. By the way fear seems to be part of what's pushing her forward.
Will leans closer to the mirror; too close to see the way the cracks at the very edges of his own are beginning to deep into each other, like metal melting to fit a mold. ]
What can I do? To help you try.
no subject
No. No, no, pardon-- [Clarification's necessary, though clarifying...might not actually clarify, she's realizing as she speaks--quicker, insistent.] S'more like. Sorry. You learn to defend yourself pardon, how to use your gifts.
[Ruth hasn't told him just how varied people's mutations can be, how potentially dangerous if they aren't trained in control. But--she straightens a little, pushing a lock of hair behind one ear--the important thing isn't home, anyway. Not what's happening there. All that matters is that they find a way to get back--for Logan's sake, for the sake of timelines that crash together in her mind, if not for her own.
(And later, when it doesn't matter, maybe he can hear the whole story. Used to live on an old prison island off the coast of California, but--)]
If I...yes. If I start bleeding, or--sorry, something else. Make it stop.