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

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

roomies!!

[proficienciesouttheass]

[ What's Alabama? Why does this house look kind of weird? Where's--

Magnus is totally not trying to shove his new food monstrosity - a hot pocket sandwich, compromised of two hot pockets with a layer of peanut butter in-between - in his mouth before Tim comes home. That thing is definitely not still in his hand.

What are hot pockets

He spots the banjo pretty quick.]

Oh, sick. Is it jamboree time?

[postictal]

It can be.

[The rest of the day is open and free for him to do exactly that, as far as he can tell. Work shifts slid by in a blur, and now he's got however long he wants to actually try out the new addition to his collection. The collection that is already far larger than is practical, contains far more instruments than he'll ever have time for, but fuck it - it's his choice.]

[He wrinkles his nose slightly at the smell - bread and meat and peanut butter - one corner of his mouth pinching in mild but amused horror.]

Man, what were you eating in here?

[proficienciesouttheass]

[ Here's the thing. The Hot Pockets thing was a mistake. In reality, they were meant to be Poptarts, but the voice of god got that wrong, and they turned out to be Hot Pockets. But the food abomination is still very much at Magnus level, so Hot Pockets it is.

Magnus glances down at the thing and casually, just, just attempts to move it out of sight.]

Nothing. Normal stuff. [ Don't look at him.]

Where'd you get that?

[postictal]

[Yeah, he kinda doubts that it's normal stuff, but he's also more devoted to keeping the contents of his stomach than he is in solving that little mystery, so he willingly and with great relief lets it slide. He holds up his newest acquisition proudly instead, a slightly battered but nonetheless functional banjo.]

Garage sale. Someone was just selling it for fifty bucks, and it worked, so...c'mon, I had to.

[He has absolutely no reason to continue to hoard instruments, and yet, he continues to do so.]

[proficienciesouttheass]

[ Some people take in strays, Tim takes in every stringed instrument he can find. It's fine. Could be worse.]

Yeah, never know when you might need to break into a sweet banjo solo.

[postictal]

I figure I might be able to fix it up some. Some of its strings are pretty worn out.

[So yes, it's exactly like someone taking in a stray, only instead of nursing a kitten back to health, it's patching a banjo together so it can play again. And it's probably cheaper in the long run, which is for the best - Tim's budget is limited. Allegedly. He seems to be able to afford everything fine, which is weird, because he can't actually remember what his job is.]

[proficienciesouttheass]

[ Ain't that just the dickens?]

You gonna name it? [ Her? Are banjos like boats?]

[postictal]

Uh...like a pet or something?

[Tim blinks, the thought having never, uh...really occurred to him. He's got a fair legion of instruments scattered around the house, some of which he can play and some of which he simply has in the event that he learns to play them at some point. He'd never thought to name any of them.]

[proficienciesouttheass]

Don't people name their instruments? [ I mean, Magnus would. He's also fucking awful at names, but he would.]

Did you never give any of them a name?

[postictal]

I've got way too many to keep track.

[He glances down at the body of the instrument, the neck that should be in far worse condition than it actually is. He really lucked out with a garage sale purchase of all things which, in retrospect, might be a little bit odder than he's willing to examine.]

[proficienciesouttheass]

Write it on 'em?

[ He's full of suggestions, my man.]

So that's, what, musical buddy number 35?

[postictal]

Why are you so hung up on this?

[Tim's brow crinkles in bemusement.]

Did you name your - your sandwich today? What was in it, anyway? I swear I can still smell it and it smells like hot pockets.

[proficienciesouttheass]

I'm not!Just, you know, some people do that. Right?

[ He pauses. ]

I don't think you want to know.

[postictal]

People name their cars. People name their computers. I don't...think I've ever met someone who actually names their instruments.

[And he knows some weird people. He knows Jay Merrick, for fuck's sake. Jay Merrick, who writes novel-length song titles just to piss Alex off.]

[Tim wrinkles his nose, a doomed attempt to drive the scent from his nostrils.]

...I'm gonna take your word for it.

[proficienciesouttheass]

It's not that weird. How's it weirder than naming your car?

[ This sort of hair-splitting conversation is probably not rare in this household. Probably. He's not sure. He can't remember the last time it happened...]

[postictal]

I don't know, man. Do you know anyone who names their instruments?

[Why is he getting hung up on this? Why does he care? God, he doesn't care. He can name the damn thing "Kevin" and get it over with if he wants.]

[He doesn't care, but he's still refusing to drop the topic, like it's important in some capacity. Maybe because if he stopped thinking about it, he'd have to find something else to occupy his mind, to keep it from the slow, inexorable drift toward the realization he doesn't want to have.]

[proficienciesouttheass]

I don't, but-

[ He knew someone who liked instruments. Someone who played something very importa-

This is a stupid fight, right? Are they fighting now? Can't be.]

I was just saying.

[postictal]

[He feels like maybe he's upset him, and now he feels like a dick. Well, great. Tim grimaces, glances at the banjo in his hands. For some reason, he's relatively sure that conflict resolution isn't among his set of personal skills.]

[Not sure why it would be.]

Well, I'll...uh, I'll take it under consideration.

[proficienciesouttheass]

O...kay?

[ He's not actually that upset. But the spat feels...out of place? In a way he can't quite put his finger on.]

So, huh, got a place to put it?

[postictal]

[Now it's Tim's turn to look sheepish, shifting on the spot, staring at the instrument he really didn't need to buy and shouldn't have bought but has nonetheless come home with, and - grimacing.]

...no, [he admits at last, the word a reluctant mumble.] Not really.