Clocktowers Beneath the Sea (Open)

[hattersgonnahat]

Who: Open
What: Time Rift Detected (Plot details here)
When: December 14th
Where: Aube(First Floor), ???
Warnings: Could vary by thread, N/A currently


With the final preparations completed, Puella was ready. Part of her wondered if she should have others come in to see it, but then again if the hourglass didn't do anything at all, it was going to be a let down right? She was only basing everything on some dreams she had, after all...

...Why not just test it out first, just to be sure?



Early that morning the base of the Aube dormitory would have felt something unusual. The sound of something whirling and a somewhat dizzy feeling after. It was very brief but noticeable enough. Kind of like a tiny blue portal that was now floating there motionlessly in the middle of the common room. Getting close enough to touch it made anyone feel like they were being pulled in. Torn and dragged through...something. The fabric of time itself?

All who enter to the other side are met with a vast world in fog, stain glass islands and clocktowers that seem to strut out endlessly; given sort of a sense that this had maybe once been a city but now feels completely abandoned. And slowly fading away.

The mist is so thick, it produces a water effect when moving around in it and refracts what little light there is. Doesn't seem to impede breathing in any way though, but might take some time getting used to. And eventually some might no longer notice the water at all, as the clocktowers and glass start to fade and reveal something more...familiar. Places that were much more recognizable, places that might've felt more nostalgic. Stepping into them sure did feel like walking into a dream...but there is certainly a sort of 'realness' to it.

There doesn't seem to be any way 'out' of this world when going 'in', so why not make the best of it for awhile? One of your own memories could have materialized, you could have wandered into someone else's, or you could look for where Puella disappeared to. She never returned back either and has been missing the longest out of everyone.

Comments

Puella OTA + NPC Interaction

[hattersgonnahat]

[Puella had already wandered fairly deep inside with very little trouble. The hourglass she had been clutching on to the whole time was glowing brighter than it ever had before, and was somewhat acting as a neutralizer to the mist around it, or absorbing it outright. Making the sight of illusions barely a thing. Perhaps even leaving a faint trail as she moved. Like a hole through the fog.]

[Because of that, she could explore quite freely, not even really questioning how much time it had actually been. This place was exactly how her dream depicted and her calculations were correct. And despite the desolate appearance there was somewhat of a warm feeling about being here, it must have came from the memories she seen. Either they remembered this place fondly or it was important to them, she couldn't really know which.]

[But what she did know, there was still something left to see. One that the memories had been leading to and something that even the Nightmare King had saw briefly. It was still here somewhere, Puella could feel it.]

...There!! [She found it. In the distance there was a few spires different from all the other ones. Thrones. For what purpose they had was not very clear, but they were here. They were real. And she could actually reach up and touch one of them (which felt like an icy, polished marble). If only Ash was here right now to see it too. She could prove it to him that she finally done it.]



...A child...? [Puella heard a voice. There was a shadow behind her when there wasn't one before. And as she slowly approached it there was another one forming right next to it. The second one was lowering itself like it was kneeling down to get a better look at her.] How did you come here?

With this! [Puella held the glowing hourglass out, feeling pretty damn accomplished about it and all. The figures meanwhile, now seeing more human than before, were astonished by the mere sight of it.] I fixed it up, and it brought me here!

[The figures quietly looked among themselves, trying to process what was even the meaning of this.] Child, who taught you about Time Pieces?

My Mum and Dad did! They make stuff like this all the time, but theirs is a lot smaller. They got the idea from the stories about people from the World of Dreams that used to do good things for-- [Suddenly, Puella was pulled into a hug. A quite warm one despite their ghostly, shadowy appearance.]

Some did survive... Thank goodness.

..? [Survive..? Survive what?]

[The first figure had been watching closely for awhile. By now it was obvious that it was a man in a top hat, much similar to her own.] Child, does anyone else know you're here?

Hmmm, not really. I came here all by myself. [And now doesn't want to leave any time soon if she's going to be snuggled like this.] I wanted to see it first... And there's still a lot more I wanna see. So I think I wanna stay for a little while longer...

[No one could stay in the Dream World forever. But it has also been too long since they had a visitor, far too long. And in the years of silence the last thing they ever expected to greet them was a small child. Still, the hope had been renewed. If there was a child then there must be others still on the other side. They still lived. There was so much left to ask and a request to make, but it seemed soon their task was finally coming to an end. At long last.]

...There is not much left to see, but we can show you.

[After that though, she will have return. But for now, Puella was picked up very carefully, being mindful of the Time Piece she carried. Their tiny guest of honor.]

[fireindreams]

[It had not been hard to figure this out. The Nightmare King's memory was long because the world moved so slowly to him. The dream he shared with Puella can be easily drawn forward in his mind to understand just where he and Grimm ended up, like it had happened yesterday.

She needed to be found. Dreams were beautiful, wonderful things. Shaped by the hands of the dreamer, it had been entertaining to watch and see what became of them. Even if he had to be the one who stung people awake with nightmares to make sure they knew they couldn't dream forever.

But like everything under her hands, the Nightmare King knew the dangers. The demand. It's not the case here, but Puella still could not stay forever.

So he allows himself to wander when Grimm gives him the option. Caught up in his own memories only once gives him form - Grimm, but taller and with longer hair. Flames begin to lick at the dream and mix with the clockwork. Too powerful for the mist and its water to put out.

She and the ghosts will hear his voice before he approaches and then finally he will appear.]

Puella...Puella...

[The God of Nightmares is here and the world is no longer silent.]

Héctor | OTA | CW: death, panic attacks, body horror ig, "live" burial + stabs, window jumps

[unpocoloco]

After losing Tobias before, after so many other times where threats have lingered all too close, he can't help but notice an absence like this. He goes looking. It doesn't take long to find the portal. He knows this is something he'll need help for but when he reaches out, he doesn't get a chance. He's thrown into a new world. A new world which becomes a very old one...

A

There's a weight pressing down. It's the first thing he's aware of where awareness creeps in slow. His body is heavy and weighed down, the dark clinging on and tugging him down just as much. But he's still. He's strewn awkwardly and pinned. To call it a memory wouldn't be right when there's no real thought at all, but there's a secondary awareness of pain that's passed. And then sharper, one that hasn't. It twists in his heart, a longing that feels genuinely like someone's broken past the bone and started twisting the organ itself, heedless of tearing. He needs to get home, he needs to go home, he needs to--

Wake up.

His eyes fly open. His breath pulls sharp. He tries to sit up and all three of these things happen at once but he can't. He can't see. He can't breathe. He can't move. Oh god, he can't move. He's going to die, he's going to die, he needs to move. His body, it feels wrong, something's wrong, why can't he move? He struggles and fights and he feels something shift around him. Dirt. Oh god. He's been buried. Why? How? There's no time. He screams. Yet he can't. There's no noise and he can't move but the scream is in his head and it's in his limbs, a fear that propels and he keeps trying and trying to be somewhere, anywhere but here, god please--


There's not much to be seen on the surface. The area is patchy with empty dirt and short grasses. There's a patch of strange trees to the side though their distance seems to distort. The mists are clearing with closed connection between worlds but there's still enough to settle over the landscape in an eery way. Tire tracks back up and disappear. There's a patch of recently disturbed dirt. And it moves.


In hours or seconds, he doesn't know, he feels the ground shift enough for him to break the surface. His hand breaks through. He feels the air, feels the surface as he clambers desperately out of it, dirt clinging to his form. His eyes are wild with fear more animal than not. He sucks a breath, then another, his chest rising and falling fast with panic. He climbs until he's crawled out, shaking on hands and knees, trying to register everything and anything of what's just happened.

When he sits back, his body makes a muffled 'clack' in his suit. His suddenly too big suit. His focus is on something else now, eyes fixed as he brings his skeletal hands up before his face, horrified. He screams.


B

"Please, I really need this job- Yes, I know I've been late, but listen, I- ... yeah... yes. I know, I know, but please, It's... it's my health! ... No. That's what I'm trying to tell you I can't get a job anywhe--"

There's a silence, then the sound of something being thrown across the room. The lights flick on and Héctor walks forward. He's dressed in his old rags, expression screwed up with frustration and misery. He plucks a wallet off the dresser, counts the cash inside, then curses under his breath before throwing it back aside. A knock sounds at the door.

"No room service, thanks!" He paces, grumbling under his breath. Another knock sounds.

"I said not today!" There's a silence. He squints at the door and shakes his head. And then it crashes open. There's a crack of light and sparks. Then the feeling of his back hitting the wall, making him cry out. Something holds his wrists up in place, some kind of magic that burns.

Another voice sounds over his ringing ears, "You're the guy who's been causing all this trouble and giving everyone the slip? You don't look that tough."

"Gah...! What...?" He grimaces, wrists burning, but he still tries to get a good look at his guest. He doesn't recognize them. He can only barely understand the words through the accent. He'd still been getting used to the area.

"You've broken the law of the veil, you realize. These are not things we take lightly in our world." Someone's laying the dramatics on real think. At the moment, he's mostly just bewildered.

"The law...? Oh for crying out loud, not this again. I'm just trying to go home. You know, to my family! I'm not a monster, I swear! I haven't hurt anyone! I'm one of the Riveras, you can call them! They're a mage family, they know this stuff! Why can't you people just let me go home!"

"A few reasons... but I'm mostly just here for the bounty." The hunter draws a knife. He hears himself protest ("No! WAIT!"). It makes no difference. The blade is jammed in between his ribs and his cry dies in his throat, pain choking it to silence. That seems to be enough for the hunter because he feels the restraints at his wrists give way, letting him drop to his knees. Blood drips down on the floor, spilling fast from his pierced heart. He still bleeds. He doesn't know why.

He hears the sound of something heavy overhead, almost like a sword. That makes sense. A lot of vampires wound up decapitated. He takes a breath.

And then he lurches to his feet, giving the hunter a shove backward before he runs. The balcony is just ahead, more of a window box than anything. He shouts and crashes through it, falling out to the street far below. His body flickers with light, and just in time. He's able to come apart as he hits the pavement, all the pain disappearing (besides a rough impact). Still alive. Or, well, he's still here.

He turns back to look up at his assailant, preparing to run.

B

[hawkwardness]

What the hell? Is that--

He doesn't have time to think. No time to wonder where he is and how he got from there to here. No time to figure out what is really going on, if any of it is real. Could be another dreamworld, could be a vision, could be something brand new.

Some bastard is trying to kill Héctor twice over and that can't be allowed. It's night, but he can see as well as the average human would, suspended in the sky. He folds his wings and dives, talons outstretched. A two pound bird versus a hunter experienced with magic? He'll only get one shot, but one will be all he needs if he makes it. He's aiming for the eyes and there's no reason the asshole will even look up...

A

[spelleton]

Not realising you're dead, coming to the realisation that you are; those things are traumatising, harrowing. This must be an old dream, an old memory; that's the only reason he can be here, watching this.

He kneels in front of the man.

"Héctor. Can you hear me?"

B

[fireindreams]

Grimm has met many Hunters over the course of his long life and fought a number too. Some who have fought him simply for the fun of it, knowing that the Troupe Master took delight in battle and it was a good way to test their own abilities. Some who attacked because they or those they held dear suffered at the hands of vampires and he could not fault them for it.

And, of course, those who fought him because some fool put a bounty on his head. He didn't mind. But Grimm certainly minded people going after his friends.

Luckily there is nothing stopping Grimm from simply teleporting behind the Hunter and grabbing them by the wrist, yanking their arm behind their back. It may be unnecessary as this is a memory but Grimm puts enough pressure on the limb to make the point that any wrong move and he'll break the bone.

"I would heavily advise you to leave this man alone."

[fullthrottleammy]

A

[Amaterasu wasn't expecting this when she went in that portal looking for the missing student. The mist here reminds her of Kasugami's, so she really should have seen this next part coming...

Yamato-no-Orochi, her greatest enemy. Perhaps not her most powerful, that dubious honor goes to Yami, but certainly her most hated. The beast that destroyed her home and killed countless people, is before her once more.

The battle was hard fought, blood pouring from both their wounds. Crimson from Orochi's flesh and liquid sunlight from Amaterasu's. They were both weakened from battle, interference on either side could finish them off entirely. So where's that freaking chosen one?!]

B

[Himiko is dead. Killed by the Dark Lord because of the Dark Instrument that Amaterasu gave him. Rao, dead before she even arrived at the city and her body stolen for evil purposes.

And now the Dark Lord himself stands before her, wearing Rao's body as a disguise. Amaterasu lets out a howl of anger and anguish and lunges to bury her fangs in the priestess' stolen body.]

Wildcard

[Or she could have wandered into one of your memories, or anything else you want to do here.]

Ekkehardt | OTA | will match format (cw: death/body horror?)

[spelleton]

A

[ His mind is blank. Somewhere, there's the sound of running water, or maybe he can see darkness; his senses and thoughts are confused, muddled, erratic.

Coming back to himself is an agonizingly slow process. He feels like he's being pooled into his own body, little by little, or at least what he thinks is his own body. It feels strange, like the sensations are coming in second or third-hand, like he's watching himself come together, and there's another layer on top of that.

He tries to breathe, and the breath doesn't come. He scrabbles for air; even if he can feel it, it's not pulling into his lungs properly. He needs to breathe. He needs oxygen, or he'll die; he knows this-

"Steady, steady." There's someone's familiar voice, saying words that he can't focus on. In trying to listen, he stops trying to breathe, stops looking for the next breath.

He feels weak and heavy and clumsy. Thinking is hard and heavy, and even worse when he tries to think about how he got here in the first place.

He tries to gasp or cry and it doesn't take, either. There's no relief, no release. ]

I died. [ His voice sounds clumsy and strange, like it's detached from him. He sounds as exhausted as he thinks he feels, maybe. ] Didn't I?

[ "You did. You're safe now, though."

He tries to breathe again. It doesn't work. He feels -- awful for trying. ]

B

[ Someone is being hunted, someone is being chased. Or maybe, someone needs saving, or defending. It's hard to tell in this bloody whirlwind of colour and sound with only brief anchoring points.

The gleam of light on a surgical tool and the cries of a battlefield raging around him as he works on a dying patient become, just as easily, seamlessly, the glint of a knife in the dark and the drumming of a frantic heartbeat that isn't his. The distant shouting of pursuers, the quiet weeping of a child being held close; these fragments of memory are colourful and loud and vivid in their intensity.

There's the sense that he's ignoring everything except the task in front of him with single-minded drive, no matter what memory it is; to heal, to kill, to flee, to protect. In these smeared, vibrant fragments, context is entirely disregarded, making things more confusing than they need to be. ]

C
[ It's another day at the school. He's on his phone, talking to someone he knows well. ]

"So, have you found someone you like yet?"

Must you put it that way? You're an embarrassment.

"Is that a yeeeeeees?"

Well-- [ There's a small but noticeable pause.

The grin of the person on the other end of the line is almost audible. ]

"Oh, has my precious little brother found himself someone that fits his tastes? Has he? I bet he has-"

[ He sputters in alarm, but doesn't actually reply with a no. ]

D. Wildcard

[ idk do whatever you want ]

C

[fireindreams]

[And loud enough that the person on the phone can hear:]

Oh, I'm certain he has.

[Enchanted senses for the win. Also he's here now, leaning against a wall. If this keeps up Ekkehardt is going to go as far to cast a blocking spell for vampires on his memories because of Grimm.

Still worth it.]

Good morning, dear Ekkehardt.

A

[stavros]

[Kokoro tenses and looks around, then back to Ekkehardt.]

The visions this place pulls us into are dire indeed.

B.

[nor_iron_bars]

[Jailbreak shakes her head briefly, like a dog trying to get water out of its' fur.]

[A riot of sensation and sound, that thought-that-isn't-thought because it's more blood-deep instinct and feelings, throwing yourself in and riding the rising tide... it's not unfamiliar to her. But it's odd to be feeling it secondhand, and she takes a moment to reorient herself.]

And here you keep pretending to be boring.

[How does Ekkehardt fool anyone?]

c; i'm sorry

[inflictwounds]

I'm pretty sure everyone's realized you like someone.

[Hieke feels a bit rude for just wandering into someone else's conversation, but, well. It's not the worst thing he could be seeing, he's sure, and it's a little amusing how flustered Ekkehardt appears.]

You should've just said yes.

A

[unpocoloco]

After his own nightmare, with that death being on his mind already this month without the memory's help, it's not hard to guess what this is. He knows what's happening. Or rather, what's happened.

He lets himself shift. For so many people he knew, staying out of this state was a comfort to them. Not for Ekkehardt. (He's never seen the man like this. It feels wrong, in a way of a child watching someone older cry, and that's a feeling he never really got used to or understood either.)

He steps into the memory and reaches out a boney hand, laying it carefully upon Ekkehardt.

"Hey, amigo. Wake now, you're alright."

Grimm | OTA

[fireindreams]

.1

[A house in the middle of nowhere, near a lake. Alderic's father had said the reason the family moved there was for the sake of ambiance but his mother had said later on it was a gift from her husband to her. An expression of love and for the future, made by his hands and just not bought with money. A drive to express that same love to friends and family that their son inherited...along with the dramatics.

But it held a lot of good and bad memories. All the way up until the day it burned to the ground.

It had been an accident. Powers that emerged in Alderic that none of them understood. Flames. It eat the wood of the house, it consumes the furniture, the photos, everything. Grimm has never gone back because there was nothing left.

Nothing but the sight of a child running through the flames to the second floor, burning his hands as he tries to pull off the large chunks of debris pinning two other people to the ground. The house continues to burn but the child isn't leaving.]

I'm not going to go! E-even if I...just hold on!


.2

[It starts with a headache. One of the Troupe Members jokes that Grimm needed to lay off the pyrotechnics and flickering lighting during the shows, but he has a feeling he knows what is coming.

Grimm does not ask to be alone. It's not a process that requires others to be with him but this is not something that should be done alone. The child should be greeted with love, not isolation. So he calls the Troupe to him and they set up a party. Given the Troupe's nature it is...flashy. Very flashy. Balloons, food, loud music...well, he would not expect anything less. And it delights him to see others looking forward to the birth of the Grimmchild.

The clock strikes midnight and Grimm stands up from his chair and everyone becomes quiet, watching him intently. The Troupe Master raises his hands and flames begin to flicker at the tips of his fingers. It starts small but grows and grows, brighter and powerful. He can feel the Nightmare King stir in his mind, awake and aware of the new life being born.

It takes energy to fuel the flames that soon begin to take shape in the form of a small child. Grimm could stop. He could cut this short and cut the life short but he won't. Even if it gets to the point that one of the Troupe Members have to hold him up as his knees begin to give out.

("Burn the father, feed the child." And that is fine with him.)

The flames burst and the child falls into Grimm's arms. Gently he's helped back into his chair and Grimm smiles down at his child.]

...papa?

Hello, my child. [The Troupe Master runs a hand through the child's hand.] It is so good to finally meet you.

[Perhaps someone would be worried. The birth of the Grimmchild means his death will be soon. But that is barely a thought in anyone's mind as the party resumes celebrating the birth and life of the child.]


.3

[It's hard to get a grip on what this memory. Mainly because of the sheer amount of them.

A young man being with his family. A pair of twins preforming on stage. Thousands upon thousands lives flash by in the blink of the eye, only to suddenly grind to a halt at random. A woman bent over a glowing ball of glass, someone flicking through tarot cards...

Two people. A being of flames and one of light. And then a terrible clash of both. A hand grinding through flesh and bone to grasp a still-beating heart.

And in the middle of this tornado of memories stands...Grimm? Or maybe not. There are some subtle differences. He's taller, hair longer. Flames lick at his shoes that go unacknowledged as he walks to examine the memories. And for those who can sense things...this is clearly a vampire. But there's something wrong, something dark and very, very old.

Something like nightmares.

Anyone who gets close will be stared at. This may be in the midst of his memories but this place cannot trick him. The Nightmare King now knows where he is. A place from a shared dream with a little girl. It seems she found it.

Blinking, he motions for whoever may be near. Come here. He has something to ask.]

1

[spelleton]

[ He hasn't seen these memories before, nor heard of their existence. It's not something Grimm would hint at, and he's never asked.

The flames don't burn him, as long as he doesn't let them, as long as he doesn't acknowledge them as real. All this is a memory long gone, and that knowledge alone shields him from the heat of a dream.

He steps carefully, looking for Grimm. Is he here, as an adult? Or is it merely his younger self, still trapped inside this shell of a house? ]

2

[unpocoloco]

[He doesn't know what' happening. Not at first. He's never seen the troupe in its glory, never learned the sort of festivities involved. People, vampires, rush past and around him like he isn't there. Something is happening but he has not idea the magnitude, assuming it a performance until Grimm stands with his hands raised.

He looks up to the fire, to the child forming there from nothing, drawing a sharp breath. He's glad someone goes to Grimm's rescue because he can't think to. The child falls to Grimm's arms and Grimm is moved to a chair and he is staring dumbly at it all.

It is a good thing he doesn't need breath. He's forgotten how to pull it, walking slowly to the pair.]

So...

[He hears himself say that, voice small then he forces a faint smile.]

I'm sorry, I didn't bring a gift to the party.

Tobias | OTA | cw child neglect, implied pet death, general adult shittiness

[hawkwardness]

A

[A dark living room, shades pulled down. No lights on. A man slumped on a saggy old couch, beer in hand, narrowed eyes fixed on a boy with messy dirty-blonde hair. Thirteen, maybe fourteen--he's tall and thin, with the look of someone just hitting his growth spurt. He'll be even taller one day, perhaps.]

Yeah, so what? [The man says in a cold, rasping voice. No warmth, no affection. He's staring absently at the TV, not looking at the boy.]

Well, it's like an honor. [The boy, cautious, choosing each word carefully. He's rehearsed this in his head for days. The show's coming up next weekend, but he'll need to be driven, it's too far to walk...] I mean, the committee picked my drawing out from hundreds of entries. Just something I sketched during art class. I had no idea it would make the state show.

Do you get prize money? [Still not looking up.]

No...? [Confusion.]

No? So then what's it worth? If it won't help pay the bills, what good is it? [Now he looks at the boy, frowning.] When i was about your age I already had a job. At this car lot. Washing the cars. All the money went to my mother. All my earnings. Because Dad wasn't around. It was tight... [He trails off, distant. Does he even remember how old the kid is?

The kid who is standing there, blankly. No big deal, he tells himself. Just some dumb drawing. Nothing to get upset over. The show probably would have been boring, anyway.] ...Yeah. Well. It was just an idea.

[No answer. The man sips his beer, ignoring the boy, who slips out the door, crumpling up the drawing and throwing it in the trash can as he goes. It was of a bird--a crane, wading in a lake. Just garbage, now.

He goes and sits in the yard, beside a bowl of cat kibble. No cats in sight. Nothing's been eating the food, not for a day or two. Not even the wildlife.

There he sits, motionless, staring into space. Eventually he can't take it anymore, burying his face in his hands. Alone.]

B

[The same boy, a different day. Same unruly hair and worn out clothing, different scene. Seems he's sitting in a principals office, and not for doing a good deed.]

But I was only de--

[The principal sighs and that's enough to get him to shut up. Stop talking, fool, you're only digging yourself deeper.]

You broke his nose, Tobias. Zero tolerance. Do you know what that means? No violence on campus. You're lucky you aren't getting arrested.

Everyone saw it. He pushed me first. [This. This is what he gets. First time he ever has the guts to fight back, to not take it, to think of his secret power and how it felt to fly and find some courage... and look what happens.]

It takes two to fight. You know what we say. 'Walk away and wait for an adult'.

You don't understand. [Flat toneless voice, concealing his horror. What is he going to eat? No school, no free lunches.] I can't--

You should have thought about that sooner. You won't be fighting again, will you, Tobias?

I... [He relents. Takes the paper on his side of the desk.] No. No, I won't. I'm sorry.

[She smiles, faintly. After all, he's not the worst student. It's only his first offense. He doesn't seem like the type to do it twice, he's hardly been in trouble before...] It's only a week. It'll be over in no time.

[He can't speak. Nothing to say, nothing in his mind but leaving. And so with a nod, he does. Going, going, gone. Through the door, down the hallway, out another door, across the parking lot, down the street. Aimless. Wandering. Until he finds an alleyway, a dumpster. No one comes here. He's used this spot a few times before.

This will be the last time. He crouches behind the dumpster, ignoring the smell, and begins to... shrink.]

A

[unpocoloco]

[Voices carry through the house, echoing off the walls over a TV's droning. A man and a boy, the latter he recognizes. But the conversation doesn't quite click in a way that makes sense.

He's aware of how things go sometimes. His fosters, while not always great or loving, were rarely terrible outright. But he met other foster kids who knew otherwise. It doesn't take a genius to work this out. It shouldn't take a hero to intervene.

But he doesn't. He listens just around the corner. The realization settles with the breaking of his heart.

Tobias doesn't even see him. He goes to follow, pausing to look at the silhouette pf the man in the chair. He moves along, swallowing cruel words to seek what's more important here.

He pulls the drawing from the trash, looking at the piece before heading outside. When he gets there, he sees the boy with his head bowed. He walks to him and sits down right beside, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder.]

... I think it's beautiful.

Hibiki Shikyoin ♔ OTA

[priforprince]

[ I. ]

[ The fog gives way to a view of a French resort home with extensive grounds - so extensive, and dotted with hedges and trees, that it's easy to get lost even while trying to make one's way to the house.

Fortunately, anyone stuck in this predicament will soon have a guide. ]

Hey, this way! This way!

[ Popping first their head, then their whole barefoot, mud-splattered body around the closest hedge: a little girl in a fancy dress with long silver roll curls, who from the disheveled looks of her has just done some running around herself. Her whole face lights up when she sees she has a guest, and rushes over to try and grab their hand. ]



The party's just starting in the garden! C'mon!

[[ ooc: Replies to this prompt will come from kurukuruchan! ]]

[ II. ]

[ Or perhaps one encounters a different opulent display. This one may seem more familiar, however, especially to anyone experienced at dealings with Fae - it's a clearing in the mist, within which shimmers the glamour of a castle. The air is alight with soft, shining light, and no matter where one turns to look, one only sees elegance. One only sees beauty.

A single figure dances in front of castle, singing in a voice sweet and plaintive enough to break any heart. Or captivate it.



A ways back from the scene, Hibiki Shikyoin sits atop a purple horse, an ornate bottle with Mist leaking out of it limp in one hand. She hasn't noticed that she's losing her quarry, however. Her eyes are fixed on the display in what can only be described as rapture. And longing.

To the point that she, herself, is beginning to glow. ]

[ III. ]

MISS ROLLY ROOOOOLLLLSSS!!!!!

[ A scream rends the air.

Hands clapped over her ears, eyes wild, Hibiki comes tearing through the mysterious fog-and-clocktower city. Fast in relentless pursuit is....fruit.

Giant, talking fruit - pineapples, mangoes, apples, bananas, grapes, you name it. With glasses. And a verbal tic. ]

I'M SO HAPPLE TO SEED YOU AGAINECTARINE!! ORANGE YOU GLAD TO BECOME FRIENDSTRAWBERRY?! OH, I CANTALOUPE WAIT FOR ALL THE FUN WE'LL EXPEARIANCE--



DON'T COOOOOOOMMMMMEEEE!!!!!

[ That last bit was Hibiki, shrieking raggedly at the top of her lungs. Her face is turning blue, and it's not from the exertion of running.

Get out of the way? Help? Or maybe bear witness to the noble would-be Principal. Your call. ]

II.

[bolderfell]

[Maybe something in Therion is naturally resistant to Fae crafts. Maybe he's just so depressed right now, even this much beauty can't move him. Whatever the case, he's not so enchanted by the fairytale scene he's just wandered into that he misses the purple horse or its glowing rider.

He just can't bring himself to care all that much.]

Your jar is leaking.

[#helpful.]

Therion | Octopath Traveler | cw: blood

[bolderfell]

[Even afloat in mist, Meteora is an awesome, breathtaking sight: massive hulks of stone rising hundreds of feet overhead, bare but for the trees, dwarfed to scrub at their feet, and the dilapidated monasteries at their crowns. Perhaps due to the wet, chilly weather, no one else seems to be around. What looks to be a rudimentary cable car barely creaks on its ropes. Something about the silence up here, held as it is between the sheer rock faces, seems sacred.

But when the mist shifts, there's blood scraped over the nearest boulder. Something had been lying there for a while, it seems, before dragging itself away. At the very end of the trail, the smeared hint of a human hand marks the entrance into one of the many caves worn into stone.]

I.

[At some point, the stony chill of the cave transitions to cool night on the streets, where a scrawny red-headed boy, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, is furtively keeping watch below a tall, second-story window. Despite the wide scar across the bridge of his nose and his obvious maleficence, there's something attractive about him; sure, he's up to no good, but damned if he isn't rather charming as he does it. After a moment, he rubs his bare arms and calls up in a whisper:]

Hurry it up, mate, it's taters out here!

[The last word's hardly out of his mouth before the window ghosts just a little wider open. That's all the warning the redhead gets before a backpack drops heavily out of it. He scrambles to catch it and then staggers with its weight.]

Bloody hell! What'd you stuff in, the whole safe?

[A familiar tousled white head leans out of the window, some seven or eight years younger than present day. Therion's voice hasn't even dropped yet.]

Books.

Books?

[While Therion maneuvers his way onto the outer sill and works carefully on re-locking the window--it seems to take some trial and error, but eventually, the first wisps of his power must kick in, because the window finally shuts with a meaningful click--the redhead below cuts straight away to unpacking the stolen goods. Therion kicks one foot idly while he watches.]

C'mon. They look valuable, don't they?

[The redhead scans the covers with growing awe, running his fingers over the inlaid gold and jewels before flipping through the pages. The paper is old and sometimes stained, and the text is absolutely covered with additional notes. Magical figures. Illustrations seem almost alive. Therion gives him a moment.]

...Darius. [The boy looks up, and Therion cants his head with an expectant look.] Gonna catch me or what.

[The boy--Darius--grins, after a beat.] Do you plan to make it worth my Barney Rubble?

[Scoffing, Therion tilts his face away and rolls his eyes.] Well, if you're not interested in these...

[He rolls up one sleeve of his hoodie like a watch salesman to reveal an obscene amount of jewelry wrapped around his arm. As Darius's eyes bug out, he lifts a multi-stranded necklace out from under his collar, too, with a play-sigh.]

Guess I'll just take the stairs.

[Darius is already rising from his crouch over the books, opening his arms for Therion.]

You've got some sheer bottle, don't you, Therion? [He says it with grudging admiration and a smile.] Come on, then. Not like I'd leave without my only partner in crime, right, mate?

[But Therion pauses, looking at his own wrist. When he moves some of the bracelets and bangles, he finds a band of duller metal underneath, etched in harsh, Germanic runes. It ought to be too big for his child wrists, but it doesn't budge when he tries to slide it off.]

Darius.

[A long moment passes with no response, and Therion looks up from the metal band, alarmed. Darius is still there, though, waiting expectantly with his arms upraised. After waiting even longer, he doesn't move, though the night breeze still teases his long, red curls.]

Darius? [Another second. Nothing. Therion seems to realize something as he stares at him, fingers still locked impotently around the shackle from another time.] Doesn't move forward unless I play along, huh.

[He doesn't get an answer, obviously. Finally, carefully, he tries once more:]

Gonna catch me or what?

[Darius grins once more, and this time, Therion scrutinizes his face with colder, narrower eyes.]

Do you plan to make it worth my Barney Rubble?

II.

[Meteora again, this time higher. Perhaps two hundred feet of mist lie below as if to promise a cushioned fall, but that's just a cold, cold lie.

Darius stands over Therion, who's on one knee at the edge of a spur of stone, holding his slashed shirt to his chest. The knife in Darius's hand shines a slick, dripping red. The same color's soaked into Therion's shirtfront, the same sheen runs down one half of his face.]

I hate to break it to you, but this was bound to happen, mate. Just looking at you makes me Tom and Dick! You were blessed with such skill. I've never seen anyone as good as you. So when we met, I knew I needed you on me side.

[Therion shakes his head without lifting it, breath irregular and strained.]

Enough, Darius. I don't need to hear it. I don't... What does it matter, whether you meant it once or not?

[Darius goes on as if he didn't hear. Maybe he didn't.]

And you were so easily manipulated by cheap words!

[Still panting, still bowed, Therion says nothing for a while. It means Darius can't, either. Nothing changes between or around them: there's only this moment, the weak sun, the mist below, the stone, the blood, and the echo of Darius's laughter.

How many times has Therion been here before?

When he continues the scene, he's never sounded so weary.]

So you're going to kill me, and that's that.

Damn right! Without you around, I can do things me own way!

[Finally, Therion's head snaps up.]

What the hell?! Is that really what it was about? Is that why you did this, just so you'd be--free, or whatever? Damn it, Darius! I would've listened!

[Only the wind answers, whistling between old rocks, tossing Darius's curls about like a piqued, fickle lover. Even now, sneer twisted with cruelty, he's beautiful in the sunlight. Therion's voice bleeds anguish.]

Was it so important, the position they promised you? The riches? Was it more important than me--? [His words break off, and he shuts his eyes tight and breathes.] ...Than... than this? Weren't we going to the top together?

[Silence.

Absolutely nothing.]

Darius!

[The memory of Darius stands there, unmoved, as the fight goes out of his former partner. His former friend. Therion swallows, letting his head sink low again between slumping shoulders. His voice drops to nothing, carried only by the wind.]

That's a bit drastic, don't you think... partner?

[This time, he barely hears what Darius snarls out--"Don't call me "partner"! We're not equals!" He's heard it all before. "You're worth less than the scum beneath me daisies!" All Therion can do is raise his arm when Darius brings the knife down again and stifle his cry as Darius

kicks

him

down

into the depths of empty mist once more.]

[alreadyhuman]

[ Even if Vivi has a hazy sense that this isn't really real, Therion is getting hurt anyway and he can't stand it. Torn between attempting to attack a dream and trying to grab Therion before he goes off the cliff, he goes for the option that seems more helpful at the moment.

Given Vivi is about as heavy as a child-sized mannequin, this doesn't work very well, and in his attempt to help he just kind of

ends up going off the cliff with him?? Whoops.

(It feels like falling from the airship again. The first real memory he ever had. But this isn't the same thing, this isn't the same memory, and that means nobody's going to catch him.)

He clings onto Therion's arm anyway. Not out of fear, but because he doesn't want to get separated from him.

What should he do? He's not sure if they'll ever hit ground. Maybe they'll end up falling forever, without landing, and he thinks that's maybe worse? ]

This is your dream, right? Can you make it do other stuff?

Kohaku Yuhara | cw: gross teenage boys talking

[infestedcouncilpresident]

-1-

The twisting paths of the World of Dreams eventually give way to the mundane hallways of Kawaguchi Middle School. Or, if you look a little closer at the sign in front of the building: "Kawaguchi Military Academy". The halls throng with hundreds of young Japanese boys. There's one student, though, that seems to always be followed by at least dozen curious gazes.

It's a younger version of Kohaku. Probably about thirteen or fourteen. Or maybe it's the current Kohaku and everything is just slightly bigger than normal. It's hard to tell in this strange dreamspace. She's wearing the same uniform as everyone else, has a similar haircut, and generally wouldn't have any problem passing for a boy, but the rumor mill is a powerful thing. Everyone knows. She's clearly trying to ignore it all, but there's something slightly tired and worn down about her that is missing in the modern Kohaku you may know.

Kohaku kept flickering between her older self and her younger self as she stopped outside of a classroom and hesitated. Inside people were talking quietly, but she could hear them just fine through the door, as could you. Seeing Kohaku's world, you get to benefit from her magnified senses.

"I'm gonna ask her as soon as she gets here."
"She's got the entire school to pick from you idiot, why would she choose YOU?"
"If she's got that many options why doesn't she have a boyfriend yet? Anyways it's Christmas Eve, if there's ever a day to take the shot, this is it!"

Young Kohaku sighed, then opened the door and leaned in just long enough to say to the teacher that "I'm going to the nurse's office, I'm not feeling well." before slamming the door back shut and walking away, her shoulders hunched. She heard someone muttering in the classroom behind her that she was probably on her period followed by a few snickers. She walked faster.

-2-

Kohaku finished buttoning up her shirt as you stumbled upon this memory. She's even younger here, maybe twelve, and she's sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. Also, strangely, she's wearing glasses. The doctor had said that while they would be monitoring her condition to keep track of her new...situation, she had no obvious IMMEDIATE health concerns and so could freely go home. Her parents were in the other room talking to that strange man from that organization with the funny name. eegis or something? She was very carefully not thinking about what happened. The day that monster had...

Her thoughts shied away from it. Don't think about that. Think about something else. ANYTHING else! Don't think about the sounds of-

There was something off about the room. It was...blurry. Squinting, Kohaku reached up and took her glasses off, and then blinked as everything popped back into focus. MORE than into focus. She could see fingerprints on the little window in the door. She could hear a cacophony of sounds she couldn't begin to sort through. Everything around her was more present than they had ever been before.

That was...interesting. Kohaku tried taking on and off her glasses a few more times, and quickly determined that she could see just fine without them now. And if she didn't need them anymore, maybe there were other cool things she could do now. They had SAID her body would change as a result of...of everything.

Maybe there WAS something good about all this.

1

[stavros]

[Kokoro raises her eyebrows and blinks.]

They must have been pestering you for some time.

[stavros]

1

[In this memory, Kokoro is a little girl, about 3 or 4. An older teenage boy, vaguely resembling her, is standing in a training hall with a rack of two-sided throwing axes. She watches from the side, holding onto the doorframe, as he picks one up and throws it in a perfect arc, piercing a target hanging from the ceiling and sending it swinging back and forth from the momentum.]

Do you think I could do that, too?

[The young man looks over. His face looks a little too perfect compared to the fuzzy details of his clothing, the targets, or the room. As if he too were a fuzzy memory originally, just overwritten by memorizing his face in pictures.]

You might well not need to, if the world is saved. But there are a good number of people out there who wish to enact Nightfall, and even if I succeed in stopping just one, there's a good chance that your fate will follow the rest of ours.

Huh? [Kokoro lets go and toddles over to him.] What's that mean?

[He pats her on the head.] Maybe later.

2

[Kokoro is older now, just a few years younger than her current age, and is training in Daybreak's facilities. The track and field court proves perfect for most of her exploits; running and jumping are pretty normal and throwing a shot put or javelin isn't that different from axes and holy water. But her times are lagging, her jump height and length don't measure up to the higher numbers you might remember from school track, and then she pulls out one of the jump ropes from the gym.]

It cannot be that different...

[She grabs one end of the rope, winds it up, and whips the other end forward in the direction of a bottle sitting on a table. Unfortunately for Kokoro, she gets nowhere near the bottle and ends up tangled in the jump rope, nearly falling over.]

...I should hope no one saw that.

2

[priforprince]

A mutual longing.

[ Someone is standing at the edge of the court, their arms crossed. At their feet, there's the broken remains of what appears to have been an extremely fancy teacup, complete with puddle.

Yes, Hibiki is aware that something unusual is going on here. No, that has no bearing on the situation at hand. ]

Must you flaunt your incompetence in a public chronological mishmash?

[silksoul]

A
[ This memory-dream is hazy and soft, its edges faded by time and distance, an unwilling fuzziness.

Someone with horns and a six-eyed mask, her face framed by long, dark hair that is painstakingly and lovingly braided, is singing a lullaby. The words are indistinct, the melody fading in and out (it's a language she knows only in part, something that still sits heavy on her tongue when she tries to speak it).

The woman finishes the song and smiles at her. Hornet giggles openly, with the easy smile of a newborn child, and reaches for her mother's hand.

It's not something real; it's a pleasant memory, a dream of the past. Hornet knows this, but she's transfixed by it all the same. ]

B

[ She sits in a room that shines with golden light and polishes her needle with a cloth, working over every inch with painstaking care. The weapon is still a little too big for her; she is not yet allowed to train with it.

One day, though. She wills herself to grow a little more, to be able to grasp the metal and feel the weight of the weapon made for her sit just so in her hand. Her mother's last gift, something that is hers and hers alone, not claimed by the king that sits in his ivory tower and asks for her mother's life.

She watches her reflection in the metal. Her hair falls around her shoulders; something she ties up and hasn't yet sheared as short as she can bear.

Her hair remains resolutely white, that shimmering colour that almost seems to radiate light. She wishes it was dark, like Midwife's, like her mother's. Like the other children in the nest.

She stops thinking about the home she was born in. She has to focus on her training.

(She doesn't want to think about it any more.) ]

cw for violence, blood, descriptions of injuries, torture, just all in all a bad time

[transfusionem]

a;
I have to admit...I was expecting more of a fight. [The man’s voice is cruel and deep, and there’s a sharp-toothed grin on his face as he crouches down.] You seemed so...spunky. I thought that was why he liked you.

[She twitches, but all that does is make it hurt more. She is...a mess right now, to put it gently. Blood soaks the front of her shirt, her hair is coming out of its braids, but it’s hard to be worried about that with the bites, the scratches, the way bone pokes out of her calf. It’s a wonder she’s awake at all right now, with the way she’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. It’d be better if she was out, she thinks. It’d be easier. It’d definitely hurt less, too.

She’s been thrown into a corner of the room - new construction, the walls still open and the floor rough plywood. She’s not sure how long she’s been here - hours, days? All she knows is that she’s never, ever been alone as long as she’s been awake.

The man reaches out to her, fingers lifting her chin. She bares her teeth at him and lunges forward to bite his hand and he laughs.]

Ah, you’ve still got some fight in you! Good, good. Don’t worry. Not much longer ‘til Richard shows his face. So…

[He grabs one of her braids, pulling her head back. There are already bites on her neck, but he pays that no mind as he leans forward and pierces the skin with sharp fangs. Blood flows easily into his mouth, and after a moment he leans back with a satisfied sigh and licks his lips. The world is starting to go dark, now, as fresh blood joins the rest.]

Not much longer at all.

[There’s a distant shout and the man laughs, pushing himself up to his feet and turning around. He leaves, and the world swims.]

b;
[There’s one thing you could say about this house - it’s fancy as fuck. Everything is old and ornate and well cared for. Someone’s put a lot of effort into making things look as nice as possible over the years, and it’s...entirely possible that person is still in charge.

Adelaide sits at window, feeling a bit like a forlorn princess waiting for someone to rescue her from how boring noble life is. She looks out on the streets while the news drones on in the background, a woman with an English accent cheerily predicting the weather for the day. She rests her chin in her hands as she looks out at the sun.

She’s...tired, but this is the only time she has to herself. The rest of the house is dark and the curtains on the window are heavy and thick - were they drawn, there’d be no light in the room at all.

She sighs.]

Just a few more days, huh?

[She pushes herself up from the windowsill, stretching her arms above her head.]

Geez…

a(aaaaaaaaaaaaa)

[bolderfell]

[The whole time, Therion can do nothing but hide. He's no match for someone like that, especially once it becomes clear that he's a vampire--when it's clear that he's a vampire, and Adelaide isn't. Not yet. She's so hurt and broken, Therion isn't even sure she'd survive rescue, even if he could pull something like that off.

It's a memory. He knows. But when the man leaves and it's finally quiet, it's still with caution that he approaches Adelaide's body.]

Adelaide.

[He kneels beside her, swallows, and doesn't dare to touch her.]

Adelaide. This already happened.

[arcadianvampire]

A

[Rather strangely, there's an area within the mists that slowly bleeds away the fog. The sun within is shining quite brightly, down onto a green, grassy field. In the distance, there's a high line of trees; along all sides, really. A soft, warm wind blew through, signalling it was probably some time in late spring. Though, for as seemingly perfect as the scene looked, there were no birds chirping; or even that many bugs sounding either. Whether that was a function of the dream, or how it actually happened, one could only guess.

In the field, two figures sat. One was clearly Valvatorez, as everyone knew him, seated in the grass. Beside him was a beautiful young woman, dressed like a Sister, who rested arm on a basket full of flowers and herbs. A keen-eyed individual could easily discern them as ones with medicinal purposes, and that they were freshly picked. The two looked like they were conversing, and Valvatorez's expression looked grim as he looked off into the distance, somewhere beyond the treeline.]

They're marching again. All of them. On the move.

Sounds like we'll be needed again soon...

You'll be needed. At most, I exist to keep you safe.

[She smiled, a little coyly at that.]

Because of your promise, right?

[Valvatorez visibly hesitated. ...He hadn't done that in the past, he knew. But he was quick to reply an instant later, a wry smile on his lips.]

Of course. Why else would I, as the King of Fear?

[Her own coy smile didn't wane, and she just shook her head gently.]

I can only begin to imagine, Mr. Vampire. But you've still helped, even in your own way.

...For whatever it might be worth. Though it pales toward what you do. Your audacity in putting yourself in harm's way to save someone's life still baffles me. Even now. [...Valvatorez's own words that time. They felt out of place to him in this familiar dream.]

Hmm... you understand it better than you think, even if you don't realize. You do keep saying you're a "proud and noble daemon," after all. I don't think you could mean that if you didn't understand, deep down.

[Valvatorez closed his eyes, though his gaze was transfixed toward the horizon.]

I wonder, sometimes... what your head must be stuffed with to say such silly things to a daemon.

[There's not an ounce of anything remotely close to malice in what he said; quite the opposite. There's a warmth and fondness to it rarely heard from Valvatorez, which simply caused his companion to giggle.]

For all their faults and cruelty, Mr. Vampire, I love people. Life. It's beautiful. And the loss of life is always tragic. There's always someone left behind, a story left untold. War robs so many people of so much. Saving who I can doesn't just alleviate their suffering, but that of others too. Any hardship I experience along the way is small by comparison, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. Life's worth protecting in the ways we're able, until such a time that it reaches its natural end.

Most humans fear death.

Yes, but... I don't. It's a part of life, and when it comes... it comes. Worrying about it won't help anyone, and as long I'm helping people, it's worth the risk. Besides... I have you to chase off the Grim Reaper, don't I?

[Valvatorez smirked, knowingly, proudly. But... there still was a sadness in his eyes.]

The Death King himself wouldn't deign to lay a finger on you so long as I'm here.

That's good! Now, come on. [She took hold of the basket and rose to her feet.] If they're on the move... we need to be too. Don't fall behind!

[With that, she began walking to the edge of the clearing. Valvatorez stood up himself, but... merely watched as she walked, vanishing into the mists. His eyes closed again, pausing for a long moment.]

...You still baffle me. Even now.

B

[Alternatively, the mists lead you into one of the faculty lounges on campus; one of the hidden ones. Valvatorez sat at one of the tables in the lounge with a cup of coffee and a stack of his mail. The calendar on the wall suggests it's a couple of years ago. Val is diligently at work, and this makes for a strange dream. Until he notices one envelope in his stack. He quickly checks over his shoulder, seemingly not seeing you, or himself, and tears it open. The letter appears to be from Médecins Sans Frontières, and it's in a wider manila envelope. Having pulled it out, the vampire set about reading it.

In short, the letter is a statement of thanks to "Professor Torres" for being a consistent and generous donator to the charity for many, many years. Included in the envelope are pictures of locations and individuals that were helped by his donations; some freshly recovered from injury or illness. There are a lot of them. And in the letter, MSF asks if they may hold a small event in appreciation for his generosity. Valvatorez spends a great deal of time looking at those photos... seemingly in shock. After a bit of time, he returns them to the envelope, setting it aside, and reaching for a blank piece of stationary with his letterhead on it to compose a message in return.

In it, while he expresses humility in their thanks, he asks not to have a celebration of any sort in his honor, and instead put everything they would to that into their mission. That saving another life would be thanks enough, and that he will continue to be a patron to the organization in the future. After penning the letter by hand, Valvatorez leaned back in his chair, and let out a melancholy sigh, even as he, and the world around him, felt a little warmer.

...This was good, wasn't it?]

A

[unpocoloco]

Valvatorez.

[He calls out as carefully as he can. He knows he's bound to startle. It can't be helped.

His eyes dart to the distant mist the woman had walked off to and back to the man before him.]

Discúlpame. I did not mean to eavesdrop. I didn't want to interrupt.

[Unlike his own nightmares, this didn't seem to be a moment one would want ruined.]

Are you alright?

Masaki Kurosaki | OTA

[taiyounoyou]

It's Masaki's misfortunate that she happens to be in her room when it happens. She feels a dizziness sweep over her, and a faint sound of... something? Out in the common room. Peering out of her room only gives her a glimpse of the strange blue portal that wasn't there before.

Is it dangerous? She doesn't know. But she does wander out of her room to get a closer look, leaving the door ajar behind her. It's not any kind of magic that she's seen before. Tentatively, she approaches it...

-----

From out of the mist comes not a world of color, but one of black and white with static fraying the edges of this world as it creeps back into the fog. Places mesh together in ways that they normally wouldn't--half of a curiosity shop jutting out into the middle of an intersection, one wall sheered away to expose the strange wares inside. A dojo meshed into a clinic on the bank of a river that doesn't have an opposite shore.

If this is a memory, it's a broken one.

The people are just as muddled, in one place one moment and glitching to a different place in the next. A woman walks along the bank of the river, holding the hand of a young boy. The memory skips, and the woman is younger, laughing awkwardly in the rain with a man in the middle of the street. She speaks, but there's no sound, just the harsh crackle of static. Another skip, and there the boy is again, beaming in the middle of the dojo. He starts to run towards the entrance, but instead of the sound of his laughter, a woman screams a piercing cry of "No!" Another skip, the woman can be seen leaving the clinic, two baby girls in a stroller and that little boy clutching her hand. And pauses at the door, turning to call back into the clinic with a smile--and all four of them glitch out of sight again.

-----

Masaki's been sitting here on the bank of this half-finished river for longer than she knows. She idly tosses a few rocks into the static abyss just a dozen feet in front of her. They glitch back into place only moments later. There's no rhyme or reason to the cycle of these fragments, except that things keep coming back to where they originally were.

A woman's voice too similar to her own shreiks a name that she doesn't remember knowing. She flinches at the sound, setting her nerves on edge. If any of these are supposed to be her memories, she doesn't recognize them.

[aibolition]

If he hadn't known better, he might have thought it was his own memory. Or "his". He knows, like the bones under flesh and the blood in his veins, in him is this creature with a thousand voices and memories he can't reach. It's him and it isn't and that's been just as well with him as the fact he's the same to Ichigo, to the old man.

But this isn't that. He can feel it, and that's an even more disturbing thought. The flickers of that scream, of that stupid little boy, make his teeth grind. The one thing he can bear with all this is the way it flickers. He's at least used to the ways a mind can work.

When he finally finds her, he stands there, waiting, feeling rain that isn't real. He watches and watches to be sure she's the one real thing here and it gives him the time to not speak the wrong name.

"Oy. Quincy," He calls out. He stands at the top of the bank, looking down, hands in his pockets. He wears his mask over his face. "You're not supposed to be here."