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

[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.]

[yallstupid]

[Guzma sucks in a breath, a hiss between bared teeth. They're wrong. His friend is wrong and he hates it. He having to be the one to tear them back down to the level he's at - they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong that he knows of. The Drifter isn't like him...they're better, they're kinder. They should get to know happiness like this. They actually deserve it. Perhaps that's why he hasn't had a dream of his own.

Chuckling sadly, Guzma pulls off his sunglasses and cleans them with a corner of his shirt, shaking his head slowly.]

Sorry, bud, but m'afraid I remember a whole diff'rent place. Nothing like this at all...and I never been here 'fore. I been stuck on that island now for months. ...Same as you.

Y'all don't remember? [Because, bro, he has a whole lot of tales to tell to jog your memory.]

1/2

[hyperlit]

[Y'all don't remember?]

[Stop. Stop, stop it, they - they know. They know, okay? They know that this isn't the way things are meant to be, they know this isn't the way things should be, they're trying, they're trying, they're trying to live in a way they could never have lived before and this is the closest they will get to an everyday life that they've never once had ]

[Don't look at him.]

[Don't look at him, even as he asks.]

2/2

[hyperlit]

i know

[That's the bottom line, isn't it? It's all too...perfect. There are too many inconsistencies. And it's easy not to accept.]

but it is the closest that i will get

[yallstupid]

[The words hit him like a punch to the face. A fist flashes before Guzma's eyes, and he recoils...wincing as he takes in a sharp breath. He begins rubbing his face from the phantom ache that seizes the side of his mouth all of a sudden, breath coming out in uneven huffs. He wets his lips, sniffing, and can't seem to find his voice, struck by the gasping fear that he's messed up. He's said the wrong thing. He's gotten himself in trouble. Just stay quiet, do as you're told.

Numb, Guzma nods his head mutely back at the Drifter. He can't. He can't take them away from this. Their happiness. Their joy...the world they deserve to live in. He can't. He can't bring himself to take all that away. It's not...it's not fair. He knows that. He knows it's not fair to them, to drag them back to a world where they're sick and dying, where they're loathed and shunned and hated for just existing.

So why does he feel sick? He feels sick and devoid of anything as he just nods obediently, eyes stinging with moisture that he forbids to fall.





Do as you're told.

Do as you're told.

Do as you're told.]

[hyperlit]

[Have they made an error?]

[He doesn't have an answer to that. He looks away, and he just nods, and his eyes fill with a treacherous shine that they recognize because they recognize the instinct that follows it - because vulnerability is easily exploited, is historically an error of gross magnitude.]

[They shift to face him more directly, eyes creasing downward.]

do you want me to wake

[yallstupid]

[Full of all the tough questions today, aren't they? Guzma doesn't look at the Drifter, and it takes him some time to reconnect enough to even begin processing an answer to the question. In fact, the question seems to take him aback. What does he want?]

I... [Guzma lowers his head, holding it in one hand when his temples begin to throb.] I dunno.

[He wants them to be happy, but that doesn't seem entirely accurate. This is all fake, a mirage. He just...

He wants his friend back.

Guzma wants then to be happy and safe, but he also wants them here with him. It's a selfish and greedy desire, but since when has Guzma ever been a good and generous sort? He has nothing left to hold onto - no team, no family, just broken pieces. For once, he's begun to form something around all that, something tangible, here in this strange world. He's not about to let that go.]

[hyperlit]

[Well.]

[They suppose that neither do they. Want has always been easily quantifiable to them, simply boiled down to a single point, a remote, possibly-impossible goal: find a cure. That has been the scope and definition of their existence since their vocal cords were shredded into shivering pink strands of muscle, and the tang of their blood stung the roof of their mouth with every ragged breath.]

[Without that to define them, what are they?]

will soon

[That is their promise. They don't intend, they think, to stay here forever - as much as it would be a welcome break from the reality of a painful, upward crawl of a daily existence.]

just need time

[yallstupid]

[And that? Is enough. Guzma understands the desire to just...pretend like everything is fine, to go along with this hazy dream where everything exists to suit your personal desires. A fantasy world made to appeal to you directly. How many times has he imagined such a place himself? He's become dead to such niceties, sadly, they no longer appeal to him anymore. He's grown too bitter, cold, and distant. Happiness like this? He's too much a realist and a pessimist to accept them as truth. But when he was young, when the sting still ached, this was an escape. A world of dreams where he could fulfill everyone's wishes and be happy.

So he understands.

Nodding his head, he gives the Drifter one final, hesitant look before closing his eyes to drown out the false world around them. He doesn't belong here anyway. He just hopes his friend will make good on his word to return. The pull of perfection is difficult to break, but...he's always been good at destroying things. Guzma just doesn't want it to come to that.]

I'll be waiting for you, bro.

[hyperlit]

[It's brief, but there's an easing to the tightness around their eyes, and one gloved hand drifts upward as if to clap him on the shoulder, or simply...affirm their perverse gratitude for such an act.]

[They think better of it.]

[They let their hand drop, and let him slip from the narrative, as easily as oil over water.]

[They just need a little more time.]

[That's all.]