lifeaftr | Exploration Event: Neverwere

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Exploration Event: Neverwere

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Baseball practice ran late and she had to bust a tail to get to the concert on time. It had been on her calendar for days and days and their hellion of a coach decided, naturally, it must be today they practice until dusk. Any other time she'd be on board, but she's got places to be!! She's a busy gremlin!!

It's not a huge crowd she has to fight through to get to the front, weaving between the patrons on the floor and using her bag as some kind of adult buffer to make the openings larger for her to sneak through. It doesn't take long for her to reach her goal and-

They're already playing-singing the words to her favorite song that she eagerly mouths along, no matter how breathless she is from the run over here.

SUP TIM. YA GOTTA FAN.]

[It’s weird to have someone you could pretty much consider a fan, even if they’re not, by Tim’s personal standards, a very good or compelling group of musicians. But they do land gigs and people do listen to them, even if he’s yet to really puzzle out why.]

[Their bassist isn’t too good at his job - he makes a better lyricist than he does an actual performer, though he certainly tries hard enough to make things entertaining. Tim’s definitely not the best guitarist either, but he’s adaptable; he knows how to recover from a mistake and salvage what could be a doomed performance.]

[He catches a glimpse of her in the crowd, because who could miss the way the overhead lights glint off her silver hair? He grins his hello, which nearly throws him off time.]

[It's silly to think he smiled at her of all people, but for a starstruck teen, that passing glance is enough to make her throw her arms in the air! He can see her, definitely. And she's geared up and ready to tell all her friends about how Tim looked at her.

You bet your ass she's going to stay through the whole set, mouthing along to every single song she knows.

The real mystery is when he's going to pull out the flute, which is a weird thought she shakes off the moment it surfaces. He's not a flutist, after all.]

['Scuse you, Ren, how many groupies do you think this shitty backwater band has? This shitty backwater band that somehow...ends up with paid gigs and performance nights that don't clash with his work shifts. It's a damn miracle, when you think of it like that.]

[You might be able to mistake their setlist for a small novel, with the way Jay does the titles: a bizarre blend of passive aggressive, youthful spite and tongue-in-cheek self-deprecation makes for hits such as Alex Told Me This Title Was Stupid So I Added More Words To It Instead or I Know Bigfoot is Real Because He's the Only One Who Ever Walks the Dog.]

[She seems happy. He does something between songs that he knows, technically, small-town bands don't have much call to do, but has seen happen in plenty of live performances in the past. In this universe, Tim is no less of an introvert, but in this universe, he had a life from day one.]

[He holds up a guitar pick, the finish shining beneath the lights, and hopes it'll be enough to telegraph his intention before he tosses it to her.]

[That weird style appeals to her, strange as it sounds to the ears of most around her. She can't remember the first time she saw them on stage or how she even managed to become a fan-it's always been like that, so that's how it's going to be. Hazy memories don't bother her because it's what's happening now that's important.

And right now, she's a huge fan.

And right now, he's throwing a treasure at her.

A pick that glints and catches her eye. She doesn't know what's happening, at first. There's no way it's-

Before she even fully deciphers what's about to happen, she holds her hands up in the air to catch the thing in her grubby little fingers. Nabbing that out of thin air is no problem. She's got this, metaphorically and physically, and the little item lands easily in the palm of her hand. That's a perk of being a baseball player in a fake reality.

Hell yeah.

And in return, she holds it up in the air-I caught it! Look at her face?? She's so happy??]

[He’s grinning at her elation, shooting off a two-fingered salute. You’d better believe he threw that just for her benefit. If he’s gonna take one thing away from this night, it’s the fact that they make their performances feel intimate. Or try to.]

[It’s weird, though, that he can’t remember who does vocs. Someone’s got to, right? Someone has been this entire time?]

[The smell of rot burns his nostrils, at odds with the scents of lacquered wood and cheap soda.]

[Ren's part of the problem, not the solution, and the mysterious little issues that could rip apart this world are lost on her. She's enamored by pick, by the music, by the fact she gets to see Tim again.

Again. From the last concert? How long ago was that? She moves the treasure between the palms of her hands, flipping it back and forth, before shoving it into her pocket. It's a treasure she'll safeguard for the rest of her life and maybe-

She can wait and get him to initial it after the concert.]

[The rest of the concert passes in a blur, in the hyper-dense way that dreams often pass. A full night of music is compounded in a matter of mere moments, and before he knows it, he's packing away equipment and spooling up cables and bracing his shoulder against the amps to shift them along the stage and down the cheap plywood ramps.]

[He's got a few minutes, kiddo, if you can catch him. He doesn't seem all that preoccupied, and he certainly doesn't expect any fans to waylay him.]

[No one expects the Renish inquisition!!!

No one, not even dream Tims. The concert was incredible and while it's far from the first live band she's seen, it felt like an entirely new experience. Because of the pick throwing, maybe. It had to be that.

Her eyes would periodically wander to the rest of his bandmates, unable to focus on them for more than a second at a time before her attention would return to him. It's weird-she doesn't know him. Can't understand why she feels this proud of him or why there's an overwhelming sense of happiness within her that keeps a huge smile plastered on her face.

It doesn't matter. It's just the atmosphere, probably.

And like a demon lurking in the shadows, she waits for the opportune moment to strike and hurries over before he can amble out of this place.]

It's-you're Tim?

[For some reason, the suddenness of being accosted makes him jump - a bleeding edge or paranoia leaking into the head of someone who’s never had to look over his shoulder. He recognizes her, of course. Who wouldn’t, with that silvery hair of hers? But something else nags underneath, something he can’t or won’t put a name to.]

[He smiles faintly, opting to ignore. Can’t be that important, whatever it is. He shrugs, wipes his hands on his jeans, and nods.]

That’s, uh...that’s me. Hi, um - hi?

[Somewhere in this Alabamareality, she has disappointed parents who probably tried to teach her not to sneak up on people like that. Probably.

Being face to face with him feels like a dream. They aren't a huge band-they don't play shows that sell out or have audiences that span across huge concert domes, but it's cool she gets to talk to him like this and-]

Can you write 'Tim' on this pick?

[The coveted item is carefully taken out of her pocket, held towards him in the palm of her hand.]

That way it'll be a treasure.

Are you...asking for my...uh. Autograph?

[Yeah, give him a sec, here. He's not autograph-worthy, is he? He never...he never has been. It simply never occurred to him that this could be the case. He's struck silent for several long moments as he looks from the pick to her earnest, eager face, and then...]

[Well, he. He can't exactly say "no," now, can he?]

...sure. Yeah. Okay. Um. Do you have a - let me get a -

[He's. Gonna hunt for a pen now.]

[For some reason, she didn't think no would come out of his mouth. It never felt like an option on the table and because of that, she's prepared to empty the contents of her modern au garbage bag on the ground and wow, how lucky! There's a glittery gel pen, among other things. Look at all this garbage.

But hey, there you go Tim. A pen. And she doesn't seem to mind all her junk on the dirty ground. Her eyes are on him and little pick she wants signed.]

I always try to see your shows.

[For months? Years? What a mystery.]

On the days I can't, I'll look at this and it'll feel like I'm here.

You...you do?

[They have a fan? A - consistent fan? Oh god, that's like something that legitimate bands have.]

[Still, the kid is young. Is she here by herself? Did her parents bring her? Did she sneak out? There's a million questions lining up at the edge of his tongue with no neat way to ask, so he settles instead for accepting the gel pen, swiping at his hand a few times to get the ink running, and scribbling a shaky, sloppy T.W. across the pick.]

You, uh...your parents bring you here, kiddo?

[That's a good q, Tim and one that should be easy to answer with a quick they drive me here or they work nearby, but none of them sound like the truth, somehow.

How does she get here? She ran today-from the school? It's not that far away, is it? Weird. Somehow aunt and uncle come to mind before parents and all she can do is answer with a-]

I think so? They have to.

[She answers without much thought and the confusion on her face disappears as she verbalizes it. That's totally what happens.]

They know it's important to see you. I like to hear your music.

[She thinks so? Tim pauses, pen still poised over pick, to scrutinize her with a mixture of open bemusement and apparent concern.]

How’d they - do they not know you’re here? [My god this isn’t okay. He can’t be condoning the running away of little girls from parents to watch things like concerts. Oh jesus.]

Kid, please tell me they know you’re here.

[Teenage rebellion is normal and this is one of the safer places to run off to. Either way, someone's aware because she knows they're having roast for dinner. Which she could only find out from talking to-parents? An aunt? An uncle? Old man Alabama?]

They know.

[Her answer is meant to appease him, while she tries to ignore the gap in her memory and the gross smell-this is fine.]

I'll bring someone with me next time. Then we'll watch you together.

[The lack of specificity is bothering him, to be sure, but at least she answers, and...okay. Good. She's here alone, and she won't be here alone next time, and that's the important thing. Tim blows out a soft huff of a sigh in evident relief, and hands her pen and pick.]

[Surely that's...the end of it. Right?]

Okay. Good. We always play safe spaces, but...probably shouldn't hang around places like this all on your own. Yeah?

[Who cares about parents and guardians when she's got his autograph?? Pen and pick back in her grubby little fingers, she starts to shove all the items from the floor into her bag without much thought. What's even in here? Who knows.]

This is your favorite place to play, isn't it? I've seen you here a lot.

[P....robably.]

W - uh. We...no?

[No, right? He glances up, surveying the area, squinting, trying to figure out if they've actually played this joint before. He genuinely can't remember. Surely they don't get booked for that many gigs? Or maybe his memory is just...shit? Has it always been shit?]

[After a moment, it occurs to him that he's been frowning at the middle distance for entirely too long, and should probably think of something to say.]

I guess it, uh, all kinda blends together after a while.

[Maybe it does, who is she to say? She would've thought the band liked it in this area, given the times she's seen them happily play their sets, but maybe she's mistaken. It's not like her memory's clear right now. She must be tired from all that running around.]

Are you going to play here tomorrow?

I, uh -

[He...wow. He doesn't know his own band's schedule. That's pretty crappy of him, huh? He scratches his nose in an attempt to stall the inevitable admission that he doesn't actually know, shooting a look in Jay's direction as though quietly beseeching his help.]

[Jay doesn't notice, and help never comes.]

I don't think so, kiddo. Sorry.

[That's disappointing. Asking seemed like the best method to figure out their band schedule, instead of using-what? A bulletin board? A weird rock? Just showing up and hoping for the best?

That sucks.]

I want to see you again. [Weh] Are you going to play here in June?

I’ll see if I can work something out. The guys that own this place probably wouldn’t mind it.

[God help him, he has literally no idea if they’re playing in June at all. Why the hell can’t he remember his own band’s damn schedule?]

You...need a ride home or something, buddy?

[The whole point of her asking about June was because she has a specific date in mind-the 19th. It's weird. She fully expected him to say yes, to have it be on or near that day, because she associates it so strongly with him. She thought it was because they played that day every year. Weird.]

It's okay. I can walk under the lights so nothing scary will get me. I'm going to get cake first.

[Which is on the way? Maybe? It's fine. There's a grocery store, somewhere.]

I'll bring some back to this place, so you can eat it when you play again.

[What's better than stale cake?? Nothing.]

t h e b a n d

c:!!!!!

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