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

[postictal]

Uh.

[He blinks, trying to parse where Ginko's going with this. So far, nothing's become apparent to him. He's just acting weird and issuing questions that make no fucking sense.]

Probably? I mean, you...you'd know better than I would, right?

[onegreeneye]

[Would he? He guesses he should. He'd think that Tim would have been there, but maybe he ran into them somewhere else. If he did would he have recognized them? If they mentioned their name, or he'd seen a photo.

Probably. He's probably met them.

He swallows hard, and he nods. This... is going to be the hard part.]

And... you've talked about them before, right?

[postictal]

Uh, they are my kid, so...yeah?

[The words feel foreign on his tongue, even if he's - he's said them before. They're my kid. They are. He knows how they met, he knows how it all progressed, and it wouldn't make any damn sense for Tuscaloosa's justice system to agree that he would be in any way qualified to care for them full-time, but - ]

[But that's how it happened. Isn't it?]

Why?

[onegreeneye]

[Yeah. Of course he would have.

So, how?

That look of confused worry is creeping back into his eyes; the longer this goes on, the harder it gets to keep looking like he's not completely horrified by this whole conversation. How could he forget?]

Tim, I don't... remember.

[It doesn't feel like a brief slip-up, a momentary loss of focus. Chara. It's like he's never heard the name before, never knew Tim had a kid at all. That's pretty fucking important, how could he just have forgotten?]

[postictal]

Like...a memory lapse?

[Memory lapse. He's dealt with those before. Hasn't he? No, he...he's fine. He's normal. He wouldn't be unstable, unsteady, dangerous, unsafe, prone to violent episodes he's not that person he's not someone that has to be contained for his own good he's not he's not ]

[His voice trembles.]

What don't you remember?

[onegreeneye]

[As it happens, that particular phrasing pings something - he's heard it before, but from who?

We're calling Dad. We're going to tell him that you're having memory lapses.

Who had said that? Since when did he-- did he even have a father?

His voice is quieter when he speaks again, dropping lower to make sure nobody else hears him. Just... just in case.]

I don't... remember Chara. I don't remember their name. I... I didn't even know you had a kid.

[He kind of feels like he should apologize, but he bites it back for the moment.]

[postictal]

[Why does it feel it, that spiked ball of something coiling up in his stomach, like cat fur sparked with static electricity rubbing beneath his hands, against his legs, persistent, inescapable?]

[It's sympathy.]

[But it doesn't make sense. He's not white-walled fever dreams and the chemical pinch of a needle in the crook of his arm and the agonized yell of a child arching his back against the cot because that's the only way to stop it all from hurting - ]

But...you just said...

[This entire conversation is starting to feel like - like squinting through the sun, a sharp pain driving into the center of his skull reminiscent of looking at something he's not meant to see.]

[onegreeneye]

I-- I know. I'm sorry. [Never mind, apologizing was inevitable.] I thought... maybe, if we kept talking, I'd remember, but-- I didn't.

[Ginko's fingers curl against the table, and he takes a deep breath. He can't remember, no matter what he does, and it's all wrong--]

Something is... wrong. I should... go, probably.

[postictal]

So you're just gonna leave to make me deal with it on my own?

[The question is vicious, sparking, a smoking gun of electric, indignant outrage wrapping a coil around his throat and tugging taut. And it's completely at odds with the reasonable, rational, relaxed man he's always been.]

[He's...always been.]

[onegreeneye]

No!

[That comes out sharper than he'd planned, and that alone sends a spike of alarm through his chest. He... doesn't usually get mad or snap at people. He doesn't. Does he?]

It's not-- Tim, you don't have to deal with it, just-- I'll figure it out.

[postictal]

Figure out my existential crisis for me? [His tone is pitching violently upward, nearly cracking.] Great, thanks. Be sure to tell my doctor the solution once you figure that out!

[He doesn't - he doesn't have a doctor. He doesn't have - he doesn't need to see a doctor, not regularly, so why - ]

[onegreeneye]

Your-- [Wait. What? Why would Tim have a problem here, he's-- he's not the one who's somehow managed to forget a whole goddamn person.

Is he?

Ginko forces a couple more breaths, curls his fingers tight against the table. It's one thing if it's just him, but if Tim is having trouble too...]

Tim, I-- sorry. Wh-what are you having trouble with?

[postictal]

I can't remember either.

[He hisses it out between clenched teeth, the words low and taut and garroting tight around his throat like a lump, like some fucking impossible pressure he can't chew away.]

[onegreeneye]

You--

You can't remember Chara?

[Okay well that would be. A Problem.

How would someone forget their own child?]

[postictal]

I remember how we met. I remember.

[His hands are trembling.]

But I - Ginko, I don't have a doctor. I've never needed to see someone for... [He trails off.]

[Why did he think that he did, even for a moment? Why did he turn to that mental landscape of white walls and featureless halls and empty faces, with that mixture of relief and terror?]

[onegreeneye]

[Slowly, Ginko sits back down, his brow creased and mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown. Leaving... isn't an option anymore. Not if it's not just him, after all.]

...Is that all that's off for you? Or is there more?

[postictal]

I feel like I should - I don't have a history of memory loss. I don't. But I -

[He feels like he should. It feels wrong, it feels fucking wrong, oh god.]

I don't remember. I feel like I do. Like I - should.

[onegreeneye]

[A history of memory loss. Ginko rests an elbow on the table and leans forward, pressing a hand over his mouth, staring at the table's wooden surface as if that might explain... anything.]

It'd be one thing if just one of us was having problems like this, but-- it can't just be a coincidence, right?

[Why would they both have sudden existential crises at the same time if there weren't a reason for it?]

[postictal]

I don't know. I don't - why'd you come here? Do you know?

[His tone spikes upward, pitch and volume climbing at a rate that should make people turn in their seats, should draw their eyes, should raise eyebrows. But it doesn't; the world simply continues to buzz and hum around them, as though nothing is wrong.]

[onegreeneye]

[He winces, tension twisting up further in his chest, ready for-- for something. What's he even expecting? So far as he can tell Tim isn't angry at him - he hopes he isn't, anyway. So why does he feel like this is going to go south at any second?

...More so than it has, anyway.]

I'm... I'm not sure. I was in town, I thought I would... stop by? [Wait. Wait.] What-- what town is this?

[postictal]

...Tuscaloosa. Alabama.

[It doesn't take him as long to dredge that up as he thought it would, which swells his heart in his chest, ever so incrementally. Maybe - it's okay. Maybe he's not fucking losing it. He still knows what town this is, what state this is - he still knows, and it comes to him with that automatic relay, like a reflex. Like signing a slip of paper, or saying his phone number, the instinct burned into neural pathways over years of retread.]

[onegreeneye]

[Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

He... stops by here whenever he can. He checks in on friends, like Tim, stops by locations that are familiar to him, like this bar. He's supposed to know this place.

So why doesn't he recognize the name?]

I don't... where is it?

[postictal]

The States? Alabama, the state?

[There's a desperate strain to his tone, to the arms pulled tight around his chest. How would someone not know the state of Alabama? What the fuck is this?]

[onegreeneye]

The-- what 'states'? Where is Alabama?

[He's trying not to get too loud, to let his voice become too harsh. His hands press together on the table, fingers lacing together and holding on tight until his knuckles turn white. Why doesn't he know?]

[postictal]

The United States. North America. Wh - this is basic geography, come on.

[Dreaming. Bad dream. Bad dreams he doesn't get, except the nights where he does, where he wakes up with sweat-tack and tight lungs. Dreams of what?]

[Dreams of what, Timothy?]