Exploration Event: Neverwere

[lifeaftr_mods]

EXPLORATION EVENT: NEVERWERE

Who: Everyone!
What: Your wildest dreams come true!
When: May 15th to May 18th
Where: Ziziphus, those still on Ensō...and Mu
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Then Know That My Life Was Just a Killer Dream
You can find most of the information you need in the OOC info post! In the meantime, feel free to use this log as a catch-all for your dream worlds, as well as detailing your efforts to free one another. Whether they're on Ziziphus or Ensō at the time of the dreams' capture, your character is free to access as many dreams as you like, as the interlocking mental landscape allows for that sort of crossing over apropos of nothing. And time, of course, is very fluid in dreams - many days, months, and years can transpire in a matter of mere minutes.

Will you fight your way free from Ziziphus's vines or Mu's thrall, or are you content to die in your sleep?

Remember to let us know if your character dies during this event!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] May 15th: The vines make their move, ensnaring characters in ideal fantasy worlds
[ ♆ ] May 17th: The Storyteller will make contact with those they can, as well as issue information and a potential solution
[ ♆ ] May 18th: Those that have not freed themselves from the vines or from Mu will suffer a death

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

the drifter | ota | i'll match your format!

[hyperlit]

[The weather is beautiful.]

[It's always beautiful, in Central. The Drifter walks easily, their pace unhampered by any fluid clogging their lungs or any chronic pain knotted up in the pits of their nerves. No one scatters when they draw near; the lizards and otters and birds wave with cheerful chirps and croaks in greeting as the Drifter passes. They stop by a vendor, trading a single glowing golden gearbit for several slices of sizzling pink meat, still steaming in their paper wrapping. A skull-faced individual plucks strings on a guitar. A dog scampers through the center of town, yapping delightedly as it sends a flock of dark-winged butterflies scattering. The Drifter stops beside a stone pool of pale turquoise water and regards the features that stare back at them: dark eyes, deep cobalt skin offset by the scarlet of their mantle and the gray of their helm.]

[For once, they do not hate what they see. The strangeness of a drifter's traditional apparel does not trouble them, even if their stationary nature makes them, by definition, anything but a drifter. The discrepancy does not tug at them as it should.]

[When the Drifter is not inside, they're out in the soccer field, knocking the ball from goal to goal in the absence of anyone to play with.]

[The world is peaceful, and it is perfect.]

[Can you hear it?]

[lightlessfuture]

[ The Knight recognises the brightness of the world they'd seen when they met the Drifter on the islands; there's a certain shared thematic that they remember.

They stop by the pool, peering into the water too. Someone they don't quite recognise, still with something of a mask and pale pointed horns, looks back at them. They touch hair and skin with gloved fingers, in obvious curiosity. A black and white sprite with horns of its own flits around their head.

Changing shape so much - this is a second skin. This is a dream, they think hazily, but it's not an immediately dangerous one. They can explore, they think.

They let their feet guide them to the right place, and knock on the door. Their friend will be inside. Why wouldn't they? ]

[hyperlit]

[The door swings open easily to the touch - why would it not? There is no reason for it to remain closed throughout the day. The Drifter is evidently equally accustomed to the entrance of others into this household. The place is relatively empty, but the Drifter straightens eagerly at the sight of someone else in the room, beckoning the Knight eagerly closer to something they've discovered in one of the house's corners.]

[It's a snail, inching peaceably along on the ground. The Drifter seems to have interpreted this as a good luck charm, or as the possibility of a new friend. Something as small and simple as that can leave them, evidently, delighted.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ They dutifully crouch to inspect this new arrival in their (?) house. (It feels natural, too, that they would live together. They are wanderers, after all.)

For a moment, their own memories take hold. In the shell's spiral curve they see the mounds, feel the weight of the dead, hear the laughing voice of a shaman who knows much more than they.

...What a strange world this is.

They turn their head to smile (it feels strange on their face) at the Drifter. This is a happy dream; they won't disrupt it yet. ]

Oh, a friend |

[ Using the sprite the way the Drifter uses it comes easily to them. Though they lack a voice, even in this ideal world, it feels somewhat natural to write words in the air this way. ]

Are they hungry |

[ What do snails in this place even eat? ]

[hyperlit]

[A friend indeed!! The Drifter is delighted with this, as evidenced by the cupping day of their eyes into obsidian crescents. They hold up one gloved, slightly pointed finger in a gesture that’s usually universal in meaning: one minute. In a few seconds, they’ve extricated a small packet from wherever they may have kept it beneath their cloak.]

[The unwrap one small pink candy and offer it to their fellow drifter eagerly, already opening another for the snail’s benefit.]

[Snails adore candy. They’re assured of this.]

[lightlessfuture]

More candy |
I see |

[ They're so busy concentrating on the snail that they're slow to notice being offered the candy, but when they do - they give the Drifter another smile, a little tilt of their head, and accept it gratefully.

They look at it, then tuck it beneath their cloak. Eating in dreams is strange, and they don't feel hungry anyway. ]

Are you having some too ? | [ It's only fair. ]

[hyperlit]

[Something about the question arrests them, for a moment. It feels wrong. It feels like they ought to be...more concerned about who sees them engage in the act of eating, for some reason. Why would they feel concerned about a thing like that? It's not until they reach up to tug down their mantle that the gesture freezes midway through.]

[That's...absurd. People here don't mind their face. So why does it feel anathema to expose it?]

[A faint frown puckers the skin between their eyes. They lose themself in thought. And decide that, for the moment, maybe they're not quite hungry. The response still comes too late. Far too late, as if they had to think about this.]

not now

[catpiper]

[Hey there, it's ya girl. A terrible little heathen that's knocking on their door once, then twice, then seven more times because she knows they have the capability of moving quicker than this, not that she allows more than a second to pass between each knock. The sun's awake Drifter-let's go go go.]

[hyperlit]

[The door swings patiently open. Something about the child’s appearance arrests them, though they cannot say why. A blink, a shake of their head, and...it passes. They know Ren. She’s a dear friend. There’s no reason the sight of her would strike them as odd.]

[They swing the door open wider, shuffling back a few steps to allow her in, their eyes pinching upwards in the tiny display of their smile beneath the mantle.]

[catpiper]

[There's no hesitation as she steps in their home, like she's done it a thousand times before and will continue for many years to come. It's too bad they haven't learned to not let local wildlife inside in all that time-it could've spared them of having their whole day planned, filled with meaningless activities, courtesy of this terrible teen.]

The soccer kid had to go inside, so I came to play with you.

[The soccer kid, whose actual name she can't remember. That's weird. Oh well, it's fine.]

[hyperlit]

[It should bother them, that they can’t remember the soccer kid’s name. It should, but it doesn’t. Surely they have a name that extends beyond their favored hobby...?]

[They don’t dwell on it. Why should they, when they have a friend to concern themself with?]

what would you like to do

[catpiper]

[Now that's the real q, isn't it Drifter? There are a ton of games two perfectly healthy people could play on a beautiful, sunny day. So many. She holds up her palm, folding her fingers in as she mentally counts down the ones they've gone through this week.

Until-]

Do you want to draw?

[hyperlit]

[Do they? They suppose they do. There's no reason they would be particular averse to drawing, now, is there? Ren makes a suggestion, and the Drifter is only too happy to oblige. They nod after only a moment of contemplation.]

the guardian has new chalk

[And they stand to head toward one of the crates in the room. Surely their roommate won't mind if they borrow some chalk for a good cause!]

[yallstupid]

[It's nice here. The wind pleasantly ruffles Guzma's hair as he stares at the unfamiliar world around him. Clouds pass overhead in a clear, blue sky and people go about their day happily. It's nice. It's perfect. What a beautiful place.

It's just a dream, isn't it? Fake. An illusion. Dreams buried under the surface of reality - the ugly truth of the waking world.

Guzma spots the Drifter by the fountain, gazing at their reflection in the pristine waters. He isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't yet speak. A part of him doesn't dare to - why ruin this for them? His friend here deserves a bit of happiness...why take that away so soon? Guzma doesn't want to be the villain this time. He wants there to actually be a happy ending to this tale, as fictional as it may be.

So he sits on the edge of the fountain near the Drifter, arms resting on his knees. He breathes in - the air is so clean - and slowly exhales again.]

Nice place. ...This your world?

[hyperlit]

[They recognize Guzma - of course they do. They recognize him, and they perceive him as someone who's been here for some time. Which is why it doesn't make sense that he would say something like that, open the conversation with the implication that he's never been here before.]

[The Drifter nods once, mystified, but nonetheless happy to see a dear friend present.]

don't you remember

[yallstupid]

[Oh boy, he's already stuck his foot in his mouth, it seems. Still, that's a weird thing to say... Should--...did they ever tell Guzma about their world before? He's seen it once or twice, in other dream-like instances, but it never seemed as nice as this place is now. In fact, it always seemed like the Drifter was always shunned by the people around them just for simply existing.

Guzma clenches his jaw, lips pursed together in a thin, tight line. He should say something - the truth - he knows he should, but...ugh. He hates circumstances like this. He hates having to tear down something so good from someone who deserves it the most. A friend.]

Can't say that I do, no. Sorry, homie, but what I do recall ain't as pretty as this, sorry.

[hyperlit]

[They remember you. They remember...you must have lived here, like all the rest. You must have. Can't you? Shouldn't you? You should remember. You should remember. It doesn't make any sense that he wouldn't.]

[They glance out, taking in the sweeping surroundings - the sun overhead, the clear pools of water, the soft hum of guitar strings being plucked. One of the otters is digging furrows in the loose dirt with cupped hands, planting fresh pockets of seeds. The scent of sizzling meat from one of the vendors hovers in the air, tantalizingly.]

[When has it ever been anything but this?]

how so

[yallstupid]

[How so?

Guzma turns his face away, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest. He should have stayed quiet. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have just left well enough alone. He should have...should have let them be happy and ignorant and--

Guzma, what is wrong with you?

He squeezes his eyes shut at the familiar voice literally screaming in his head, causing a dull throb in his temples to begin to form from how hard he grits his teeth together behind his tightly pursed lips. Breathing out through his nose, Guzma explains, voice quiet and slightly hoarse.]

People weren't nice like they are now. They took one look at'cha and either ran away, or...o-or-- [He digs his fingers into his arms, not caring that there may be small crescents in his skin from where his nails pinch at his skin.] Threw stones at'cha. Things weren;t clean, or as alive as this, neither. Seemed more desolate n' this here place. People didn't trust...outsiders, or people what look or act diff'rent than them.

People like you n' me.

[hyperlit]

[They certainly weren't expecting that kind of answer - and not at that kind of length. Not with that kind of viciousness. And not - not laced with the static blur of memories dug into their veins with fire-tipped claws, the crackle of familiarity in the ghosts with bright cobalt skin. Garbed in red and draped in the traditional wear of a drifter, and still the black beetles of their eyes peering out from the stripe of blue left them stinging with flung rubble and rocks.]

[The ache of feet in their sides. The chatter of angry people, telling them they'd better go.]

[That's not what this world is. They've never been unwelcome here. Have they?]

it has always been like this

[But the amount of time it takes for them to respond betrays them.]

[ohshitsweetflips]

How about a familiar elven vendor? One who is unsurprisingly pleased to see the Drifter darkening their door. It's...maybe a nicer set up than Taako is used to, but he's been a lot of places, he's a little hard to faze even outside of dreams. Cha boy is all smiles, this place has a good color scheme, the sun is shining, and he's about to get some sweet sweet--gearbits? Whatever, 's all good.

"What'll it be today, homie?"

[hyperlit]

Something about the hairlessness for this particular vendor's face is...odd, though they cannot say why. It occurs to them that he is nonetheless familiar. Because...they live here, and he's here, and they have always been here, so why does it halt and skid in their mind for half a second before they can issue a query in turn?

what do you have

[ohshitsweetflips]

The question seems to throw him off, but he recovers quickly enough, taking a quick visual inventory, hands on hips and expression only a little puzzled. There's definitely stuff to sell, here. Definitely. Hey, turns out you don't have to know much about something to sell it, actually. Sometimes you can just flat out lie about what something is and sell it anyway, even. Not that he'd do that here, not to Drifter. He owes them...something.

"Got, uh-- One of these. Some, some this business here." He wince-grins after shuffling through a few questionable wares one by one, bless his alien heart. "Some snacks, maybe?"

[hyperlit]

That’s...odd. He seems out of sorts, like he can’t quite remember what it is he’s meant to sell. What kind of swordmaster doesn’t know the names of their own techniques? What apothecary does not have the potions requisite to recover one’s well-being?

Snacks? They...there’s nothing objectionable, they decide at last, about snacks. Yes.

ok
do you need some time to


find them

Since he seems to be having, uh. Trouble.

[ohshitsweetflips]

Look, it's not Taako's dream, he doesn't have to be confident here, even if maybe his customer service is suffering a little for it. But Drifter is right, nothing objectionable about snacks in any reality.

"No no no! I uh-- Taako's got this. 'S all good." His reputation, whatever it is, is on the line, and he rounds up snacks with due diligence. Why didn't he lead with this, he thinks, pushing minor foodstuffs their way corralled in a little heap by his arms.

"Here, how 'bout you-- Just take your pick, you pick." That's gotta be the hiccup here, it's not Taako's job to make Drifter's shopping decisions, after all. They just started on the wrong foot, it's fine.

[hyperlit]

Something about the vendor - Taako, he said? - something about his uncertainty strikes them as odd, though they cannot rightly say how or why. Perhaps his self-assured nature made a big enough impression in the initial salutation for this to strike them as...uncharacteristic?

It's hard to say.

They settle on a packet of little pink candies, the same kind they usually carry in their cloak, and hold it up speculatively.

how many of these do you have