lifeaftr | 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

Amazing. Such coincidences, combining into a blessing. This must be the Lord's work, praise be. [The last is- bluntly sarcastic, almost shocking. They don't talk about their life on-- before Tim. Do they? He's aware of it, of course. Intimately. It's not their life anymore. Perhaps they have progressed to the point of making light of it.

And yet, a large portion of them is suddenly-]
Terrified, as if they've called it all back down upon them.
...One would think so, yes. [Stupid. They sit up, reaching for the glass of water they'd left on the coffee table.

Their hands are shaking.]

[That's the thing about Tuscaloosa; you can't really escape it. It's not just in the church parking lots and plastered on billboards. It's in the junk mail, it's in the headlines, it's on nearly every street corner in some way or another. God is watching. One misstep, and you'll be punished. Your filthy little soul is too stained and too ugly to be rescued, so you'd better hope that He's feeling merciful when he purges you in one blast of unholy, purifying fire - ]

[There's a moment where he has to decide - where he freezes with uncertainty as to the best route to take.]

Eh. The Lord can suck it.

[And look at that.]

[What's that someone once said?]

[God is very slow today. You're still standing.]

[Since when has God done any good for anyone?]

What's he know, anyway?

[A brittle laugh- still tense, but also surprised. He doesn't often disregard things so flippantly, as if it isn't worth his time. Their time. It's quite possible he didn't even mean it as such; that Chara is reading far too deeply into nine words. That Tim's just trying to change the topic before he's stuck dealing with another one of Chara's many moods.

But they don't think so. Tim is-- a liar?-- to anyone but them. Whatever their meaning, Chara finds... reassurance, there, sliding off the couch and wandering over to the kitchen doorway with glass in hand, simply- watching.

That's reassuring, too.]

Don't forget the satay chicken skewers, this time.

[Menus. There's one of them in his cupboards, some half-crumpled takeout paper he stuffed into the detritus of address books and old envelopes full of things he never looks at. (They're all blank, when he shuffles through them and discards them, one by one, but the words don't leap out at him and he is nothing if not as adept at lying to himself as he is to anyone else, and so he forgets why the cupboard full of empty pages unsettles him so the moment it crosses his mind.)]

[He can't remember the name of the place, and he can't remember the number either - and for some reason, squinting at the black strip of digits at the top of the takeout menu doesn't make them any clearer.]

[He'll ride it out with muscle memory.]

What else are you thinking?

Hm... perhaps- [They shuffle over, peering about his arm and squinting at the colorful (but ultimately useless) slip of paper in his hands. That's troublesome; they would have hoped Tim had sampled more of this than the few scraps they'd stolen from the kitchen one night after-

...]

The usual. I can't be bothered to experiment, tonight.

[They shrug lazily.]

The... [The usual sticks in his brain the way nothing else has, an empty gap that's simultaneously foreign and achingly familiar.]

[This shouldn't be hard to remember. ~~Remembering is what he's always been bad at.~~ If he closes his eyes, lets it come to him, lets it just...it's there, isn't it? It's got to be. It'll come to him, it will, it'll - ]

[But it doesn't.]

What's the usual, again?

[Their smile comes all too easily.]

Wow, work was that difficult, was it? [A slightly sarcastic question as they hold their hand out.] Give it. If you wanted me to call, all you had to do was ask, Timothy.

[He's not supposed to be like this, not anymore. He's not supposed to be losing memories, bleeding out from his ears like headaches. He's...]

[He was never like that. What is he thinking?]

Right. Yeah. I. [He passes them the phone, because it's easier than thinking about the migraine and the sugary scent of rot in his nostrils.] Sorry, I guess it's been a long day.

Whatever. [A shrug. Chara presses a series of numbers at random, holding the phone to their ear and waving Tim towards the lounge.] Go. Sit.

[They've got this.]

...right. Yeah.

[The headache behind his temples is building to unsettling levels of unbearable. He makes for the bathroom instead, retrieving a bottle of painkillers, and for some reason - should he be taking these? Can he be trusted to...]

[The hell is he thinking?]

[He sets them down again. Picks them up. Stares.]

[Sets them down.]

[Something about the weight of a bottle of pills in his hands is familiar and dangerous in a way he can't place, and if he places it, he - he'll have to do something about the icy trickle of dread uncoiling in his guts, so he shoves the bottle in his pocket because it just feels right and paces to the living room instead and sits, massaging at his skull.]

[What the fuck is wrong with him?]

Exploration Event: Neverwere

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