What You Take With You part II: Reflections In The Fog

[unpocoloco]

Who: All those on the What You Take With You mission and everyone else (who OOCly wishes to join in)
What: An important artifact is brought back only to immedaitely activate. Further details are here.
When: November 10th
Where: Daybreak Campus and around Soliel
Warning: Warn in headers as appropriate

On November 10th the recovery team sent into the Outlands makes their return with the obsidian mirror. Thus far it hasn't seemed any different than any other obsidian mirror, nothing spectacular about it beyond its age and where it came from. But Daybreak was only called to retrieve it, not anything more. The spell is worked to open the path between the Outlands and Daybreak, allowing them back. But as this happens, the mists rise up as they often do when the two worlds intersect. The team might even see it ghosting over the mirror before catching their own reflections in it. A light flashes over its surface and in that instant, the mirror activates.

Just one look in any reflective surface throughout Soliel-- a mirror, a window, a bit still water-- and people will be struck with sudden dizziness, a feeling of being knocked back, and then darkness. You'll find, on waking, a dark and desolate landscape full of smoke and fog. It'll be hard to tell where one is going. You won't be alone. People all over the academy have been brought into this vision. You may run into them, but even more likely, you'll run into the spots of color that cut through the fog.

And dwelling with this color? Why it's you. But better. Or maybe, much, much worse. It seems the mirror has something to show you. But is that something a promise? Or a threat...? Learn its lesson and you may escape both the shadowy realm and a terrible fate in your future. What image will you leave on the world?

Comments

Jailbreak | OTA

[nor_iron_bars]

I. all the people i know aren't who they used to be

Well, shit.

[Jail is looking around curiously, resigned to the fact that Some Fuckery is happening now. She's not exactly thrilled about it, but she's taking it relatively well.]

[Sometimes you just get teleported to the endless void, it's whatever.]

[Thoughtfully, she reaches out to a plume of smoke, letting it dissipate as it runs through her fingers.]

Huh. Wonder if... [She trails off, hearing something behind her.]

[Say hello?]


II. better than i could have ever been

[Have you ever noticed how tone of voice and body language can make someone seem like a completely different person?]

Hi there. Are you doing all right?

[That's Jailbreak. It's obviously Jailbreak, there's no mistaking it, and yet...]

[She doesn't seem like her usual self.]

[Something about her expression is... gentler. Warmer. There's a degree of genuine concern in her voice that Jail might, possibly, feel- but normally wouldn't let people notice. She seems calmer, too, not lazy and unconcerned so much as just at peace.]

There's some pretty rough stuff out there, we should stick together.

[The observant might pick up on one other thing, too: normally, Jail is always poised to dodge an attack, braced to flee, no matter how casually she acts.]

[From the moment she stepped out of the fog, this woman has been braced to hold her ground. Because running doesn't work if you aren't willing to leave people behind.]


III. swear to god i ain't never gonna repent

[Where are you?]

[You've gone somewhere you shouldn't have. This is not a place to be.]

[No one is here.]

[No one but you.]

[It's so very, very quiet.]

[So why do you feel like you're being watched?]

III

[spelleton]

[ He's not particularly unnerved by all this; being watched isn't even a new sensation for him. But wandering around in the fog hasn't done anything to make him less annoyed, and so. ]

Something for you?

[ He's not addressing it in any particular direction, but he does know someone's there.

At least have the courtesy to come out where he can see you. ]

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's no response- at least, nothing verbal. Just a very subtle sense of something shifting, as though more attention is being paid to him. Like this presence, whatever it is, is now focusing more on Ekkehardt himself than simply looking at the area he happens to be in.]

[If he continues to walk, though, he'll likely notice the change in his surroundings:]

[Instead of empty darkness beneath the fog, the floor has become smooth, seamless metal.]

[Almost hidden completely by the smoke, lying on the ground, is a cable. It's hard to make out, but it's trailing off somewhere into the distance.]

[Maybe there's something at the other end?]

[spelleton]

[ He's been in enough tight spots and played enough horror games to know where this sort of thing is headed.

Still, he continues on. He doesn't touch the cable; he simply walks alongside it as best he can, following it into the darkness to an unknown destination. ]

[nor_iron_bars]

[It's hard to say how long he walks, exactly- distance is odd here, there's something not quite right about the whole space.]

[But as he goes forward, the cable is gradually joined by another, and another, and still more, all of them heading in the same direction. Silently, almost imperceptibly, the soft hum of working machinery begins to come into focus.]

[Eventually, he'll come to the point where they all meet.]

[Three tall pillars, all smooth metal and glass, the cables winding into gaps in their surface. It doesn't seem any less inscrutable than the rest of it...]

[Unless he looks up.]

[At the top of the center pillar, the tallest one, is the figure of a human head and shoulders. From about an inch below the collarbone on down, there's only the metal and wires of the pillar, utterly inorganic- and then, above, the abrupt transition to human flesh, perfectly unmarked and preserved.]

[The other two pillars are slightly lower, one to each side, and the figure's arms are spread so that one hand rests gently on each of them. Long, pale hair has been brushed out to flow smoothly down the back, framed by more wires trailing off into the darkness. The eyes are closed and it is all utterly still.]

[Perhaps it's some kind of clever mannequin, or exquisitely-made statue, because although it looks perfectly lifelike, there's no life to be sensed here at all.]

[Still, it does look shockingly realistic. It's completely unadorned, except for the bracelets at the wrists.]

[No. Not bracelets.]

[Shackles.]

[The face may or may not be entirely familiar. Certainly, he's well-acquainted with the upper half of it, but the lower... well.]

[It's been a long time since anyone saw Jailbreak without her mask.]

[spelleton]

[ Well. That's not good.

That's about all he can say about that. It's clear that whatever has happened, it's something beyond his skill to separate or repair.

If it truly does need repair. If this isn't just how things are, here, in this strange, foggy space.

Shackles again. Why is it always shackles? He himself wears chains, a symbol of restraint and a reminder of the weight of his responsibilities, but shackles are becoming more and more uncomfortable to see lately. ]

What is this...?

[ He approaches, cautiously. Not touching. He's certain, from the awareness he'd felt, he doesn't even need to come close to touching for her to be aware of him. ]

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's no movement, no sign of life from the bound remains, but the background hum of machinery is joined by the quiet whisper of voices. It sounds like a radio skipping from station to station too quickly to catch more than a passing word or phrase, everything blurring together until it's just meaningless noise, like static on a dead channel.]

[It sounds like it's coming from everywhere at once, faint and sourceless, but slowly more recognizable words crop up in the din.]

...something that shouldn't fucking exist.

[The words are in Maverick's voice.]

[It doesn't sound like him replying, more like a snippet of a recording, just a couple seconds cut out of a larger conversation.]

Hello- [Desidera's voice, this time.] -I am- [Puella's voice.] -that- [Arthur Bell's.] -I am. [Hector.]

[Ky Kiske:] ...yes, that is I- [Gunvolt:] And just who's asking?

[spelleton]

[ He doesn't feel like giving his name to whatever this is would be the best idea. The voices set him on edge only slightly, but that's because he's already been wary for some time now and the difference is negligible. ]

A friend of yours.

Are you still yourself, Jailbreak?

[ Jailbreak is fiercely individual. To see anything about her reduced to something dependent on the voices of others, on outside components, is a strange and unsettling feeling. ]

[nor_iron_bars]

[It's hard to tell whether she's still herself, one way or another- but the entity does definitely react to hearing that name, the volume of the background babble of incoherent voices spiking briefly before quieting back down to a murmuring hiss, faster-paced and almost feverish.]

[Akechi's voice, this time, but it skips repeatedly and warps in odd ways. It's as if the recording is degrading, or being toyed with deliberately to produce different effects:]

What do you want? What do you- you- you-

What do you want? What do you want?

[The whispering reaches a peak- and then all other noise suddenly cuts off, and there's only one voice speaking. It's Ekkehardt's own.]

How can I be of service?

[There's an undercurrent to it, something in the words that shouldn't be there. This is not a safe question.]

[spelleton]

[ What does he want? He'd followed an impulse, a curiosity. Is there a safe answer? Is the trick not to answer at all? ]

I don't require anything of you.

[ She borrows other's voices, and seems to have none of her own. Whatever that entailed, it surely doesn't mean anything good. ]

I'm curious, of course. About how you came to be this way. But that's your choice to answer.

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's something odd about the voices, now- more than the strangeness of situation as a whole. It's getting harder to pick out which voice belongs to which person, who said what- they're all beginning to blend together, multiple voices speaking at once, indistinguishable.]

I- lost-

caught- in the dark-

the world is- gone

III

[unpocoloco]

[Going somewhere he shouldn't have. Story of his life and death and undeath and the past eleven years. He's trekking through the fog and he's starting to build the terribly sickly fear that, like he wound up trapped in the Outlands, he's going to be trapped here. How long will it last this time?

Weeks?

Months?

Years?

No. But only because he knows he doesn't have that long.

Not just because he's being watched.]

Hello? Is someone out there? Anyone!?

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's a quiet noise, a faint mechanical grinding, and suddenly a path snaps into place in front of him.]

[It's flat, cold metal, stark and solid against the fog and darkness. Not terribly welcoming, but it is a path...]

[unpocoloco]

[He jumps in place, startled by the sudden noise and snap of metal. He stares at it for a long moment but takes a tentative step forward. Was it coincidence or did someone hear him?]

...Hello?

[nor_iron_bars]

["Someone" is perhaps a complicated prospect, consider the presence whose attention he's attracted.]

[But he has been heard.]

[There's no response, but the path holds underneath him, solid as any more typical flooring. Nothing attempts to attack.]

[Farther along in the distance there's a very faint sound, like static on a dead channel...]

[unpocoloco]

[He stops calling out. Whatever or whoever is out there, it's not answering. But as eerie as it is, he can't help being a little afraid.

He's never missed the irony of being a monster afraid of monsters.

He hears that static crackle and goes toward it, taking tentative steps, ready to shift and run.]

[nor_iron_bars]

[The path continues on for some time, as silent and solitary as it was from the start.]

[The faint static noise continues, increasing ever-so-slightly in volume, until the path finally comes to a stop.]

[At the end is an... unnerving sight.]

[Does he risk approaching her?]

[unpocoloco]

[His breath pulls sharp. His expression twists with horror. There's no question of risk in his mind.]

Jail...! Jail!

[He runs to her, not knowing what to do, not knowing if there's anything he can do or if he's staring at a corpse that's been mutilated, but he can't just stay back.]

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's no reaction at all from the body, remaining as silent and unmoving as it was when he arrived, but there's a shift in the background noise.]

[The faint sound is warping slightly, changing, like a radio rapidly flipping through the stations- snatches of recognizable sound, moments of coherence.]

[Perhaps more appropriate a metaphor than previously expected, because for a few moments it lingers long enough for a fragment of song to make it through:]

"Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid..."

[unpocoloco]

[It cuts through the quiet, through the ringing in his ears. It makes him stumble.

He knows the story of Lazurus. Everyone does. He can't pretend that that noise in the static isn't speaking to him. Him and his debts...

His head shakes and he calls out to the fog.]

What do you want!? Why did you do this to her?!

[nor_iron_bars]

[The "station" flips over to another song, this one playing for longer before it shuts off, warbling and skipping slightly.]

"Well Iiiiiiii didn't tell anyone, but a bird flew by- saw what I'd done- he set up a nest outside..."

"I invited him in, just to reason with him, I promised I wouldn't do it again..."

Are you calling me out for some of my all time favorite songs gosh gosh

[unpocoloco]

[It sends another shock of fear from him. It's taunting. He's always liked music but not so much now.

Jail's dead. He can't undo that. But...]

Please... give her back. Give her back to us, her friends. That's not too much to ask, is it?

Not on purpose but I'm not sorry.

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's an odd, almost pensive quality as the dial clicks around again, playing a different song.]

"You whispered 'where are you', I questioned your doubt- but soon realized you were talking to God now."

wheezes

[unpocoloco]

[He frowns, confused again. This is perhaps the strangest conversation he's ever had. He could have enjoyed it if not for the mutilated corpse of his friend.]

I'm- I'm not talking to God. I'm talking to you. I'm talking about Jail, my friend. You've done something to her...!

[nor_iron_bars]

[There's something almost pitying to the sound of the "reply", weary and understanding in the face of what Hector still hasn't realized:]

"I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this- but it gets worse:

[The music shifts abruptly to a different song midsentence, no pause between changing "channels", driving home the point.]

"I'm still here."