I Was Going Outta My Mind

[missrecalled_mods]

It had been a while since the lamp shards had vanished. Things were slowly starting to return to what seemed to pass for normal in this miserable place. The snow falling is now a mix of hail and rain drizzling in miserable phases.

And then it started.

For those who slept, the first time it happened as they were waking up. For those who didn't sleep, well no one is fully attentive at all times - and even if they normally were, they'd find their mind wandering. But when they came back, that was when it would happen.

But what exactly is the it that happens?

A short moment. A glimpse at most. A moment from the future. Small snippets of memories. Traumatic. Cryptic. Confusing. The snippets fragments of memory, that the person who the memory belonged to could see. And so could anyone with them at the time. But...

Those memories hadn't been made yet. Memories of a future that hadn't yet happened. But absent enough context to allow anyone to stop them from happening. Just enough of a glimpse to cause nightmares, to increase trauma.

But if misery loves company then amore is in the air, for each of them will have, it seems, plenty of company in this particular bit of nightmarish horror.

Comments

River Song | OTA | Warnings for: death, violence, guns, Spoilers, heartache

[professorsong]

The Beginning of the end.

River sitting in a chair, bits of machinery in her lap. A countdown. Flashing lights.

She was very near to tears.

"Time can be rewritten!" a male voice, angry. Frustrated.

"Not those times. Not one line. Don't you dare."

"What the life without the Doctor was that?" River snapped, angrily. She had a feeling she knew. Well, yes and no. A glimpse. A future moment. It had to be. She knew that outfit. She knew when she would have sounded like that. Months ago and possibly only a minute into the future. If that.

Someone was messing with time. And she needed to figure out who. Why. How. And how she could use it to get back to where she was supposed to be. Because if this was the Doctor trying to save her, she had some strong words for him, and they weren't going to be "Hello, sweetie".

Children

"You should tell us another story." A little girl with pin straight brown hair sat in one bed, all but lost under a huge comforter.

"I'm tired of stories." A little boy. He and a little girl were in the other bed. They looked like siblings.

"Well I like stories! Tell us a story, please," she said in a polite to tick off the rude person sort of way.

"I think it is bed time," River said, heading for the door. Which just started all three children up, whining.

"I recognized one of those children and she isn't mine. There is a reason my parents never got to be grandparents. I don't do... children."

Not even back when she had been one herself. She had no patience for them. Not really.

The First Of The Conference Room

A room with Japanese screens for walls. The light through the paper was bright and changed colours from one to another on a somewhat swift fade. At the table were River, 2 human women, a lizard looking woman, and what looked like a potato in a suit.

"Help yourself to some tea," the lizard woman said.

"Why thank you," River said. She lifted a wine glass and took a sip.

"How did you do that?" the human woman across from her asked, amazed.

"Disgracefully," River said, smugly amused. While sipping she turned to the human woman beside her. The woman gave her an odd look.

"Ah, perhaps you two haven't met," the lizard woman said. "This is the Doctor's companion. Uh... that is..." she added, awkwardly, "that is... his... current traveling assistant."

"Assistant?" the human beside her asked.

"Have you gone a darker green?" the potato asked the lizard woman.

"Clara Oswald," the lizard woman said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Professor River Song," River said to the human beside her. "The Doctor might have mentioned me."

"Oh yeah, oh yeah, of course he has," the woman said with a surprised look that seemed feigned and catty. "Professor Song. Sorry it's just that I never realized that you were a woman."

The scene faded and River's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps it is for the best my husband is not here just at the moment. the best for him, that is. I however feel like having some fun. Who is up for some crocodile hunting?"

The Second In That Room

The room as the last scene though some time has clearly passed. only River and the lizard woman could be seen.

"He's still never contacted you?" the lizard woman asked.

"He doesn't like endings," River said, simply. "So what else did this Demarco tell you? He didn't just buy his life with some coordinates. How did he prove their value?"

"One word only," the lizard lady said.

"What word?" River asked.

"A word I've heard in connection with the Doctor before." a tense moment. The lizard woman opened her mouth. and the scene faded.


"No! Blast it all! I need to know more! What was the word?" River was furious. And scared. And not the good kind of scared that meant running and monsters, and her hand in the Doctor's. The kind of scared that came from being helpless, being trapped in a way River Song had not been trapped in this lifetime.

Third Time's Not Charming

The same room again, this time it was from River's point of view. She was looking at a floating head made of light and shadow up above herself and forward. It was all that could be seen.

"The Doctor has a secret, you know," the face said. Male voice. Rough. "He has one he will take to the grave. "And it is discovered."

"You misunderstood," River said, her voice quiet with fear.

"Ma'am," the human who wasn't catty in the other scene said in a shaking voice. "I'm sorry. I just realized I forgot to lock the door." River looked at her and the Lizard woman in the same field of view.

"It doesn't matter, Jenny," the lizard woman said, intent on River. "What misunderstanding?"

"No, ma'am, I should have locked up before we went into the trance."

"Jenny, it doesn't matter," the lizard woman said, she turned and could now see the terror on the woman's face that River could.

"Someone's broken in," Jenny said, breathing hard, voice breaking. "Someone's with us." She sounded like a medium pretending to have summoned a spirit. Only, you know, convincing. "I can hear them..."

"Jenny, are you alright?" the lizard woman asked.

"Sorry, Ma'am... So sorry," Jenny gasped. "So sorry, so sorry. I think I've been murdered."

The scene ended. River's hands clenched into fists. "Not. One. Word," she snapped at whoever was near her. She needed a moment to deal with her emotions.

The Slap That Never Landed

River was facing a man in a bowtie. He looked painfully under-slept. Some odd white light was flaring and dimming, reflecting on his face. He wasn't looking at her.

River was looking at him, however. "Save her!" River was saying, desperately. "Yes. But for God's sake BE SENSIBLE!" she yelled. She reached up a hand, swinging it to slap him, face crazed.

He turned at the last second and caught her wrist, his eyes meeting hers.

She stared at her hand, then at him, shock driving the desperation from her face. Or transforming it to a different desperation. "How are you even doing that?" she asked in a much more quiet voice. "I'm not really here."

"You're always here to me," he said, his voice rough and deep with emotion. Though to anyone who didn't know it, it would just sound gravely. "And I always listen. And I can always," his voice dropped to a whisper, "see you."

"Then why didn't you speak to me?" if raw heartbreak could have a voice, this was pretty close to how it would sound.

He took his time to answer, eyes moving away from hers before he could. "Because I thought it would hurt too much."

"I believe I could have coped," she said, softly.

"No," he said, partially over her words, cutting her off. "I thought it would hurt me." He wasn't whispering any more. His eyes kept daring away from her. "And I was right." He stared at her a moment longer as the scene faded.

River dropped. For the first time on the Isle she didn't care who saw her, what strength she showed or didn't show. She dropped to her knees as if cut off at them. Her hands went to her face. And she wept.

First Conference Room

[mist_the_point]

Foulques found himself rather pitying her husband just then, privately agreeing that it was likely best for him that he wasn't present... but also somewhat wishing to be able to watch what would happen if he were to turn up. There were, however, more practical matters to consider. "If you've a weapon, I'll join you," he said. "More meat would hardly go amiss."

Re: First Conference Room

[professorsong]

"Let's go then," she said, utterly ignoring the implied question about her weaponry.

[mist_the_point]

He nodded. "I can wait by the door while you retrieve your weapon, whatever it may be," he said. Because she certainly didn't have one now that he could see.

[professorsong]

She laughed. "Oh sweetie. I'm River Song. I am the weapon." she gave a wink. "Besides, I haven't had a good rush of danger in forever. I'll lose my edge before long. And that wouldn't do at all."

Foulques | OTA

[mist_the_point]

Branching Out

Seen from outside, Foulques seemed to have Chell pinned to the stone floor. If this was a fight, then Chell seemed to be losing, and badly. The Duskwight's mouth was twisted in a snarl as he appeared to be trying to rip the ent's arm off. "Gods darn you, Chell!", he yelled, the snarl in his expression reflected in his voice as he pulled harder. "Your body may be of wood but your brain is clearly made of rocks! Of all the foolish, ill-conceived, idiotic-"

"What in the Gods' names was that?", Foulques said. "Another of this place's darned illusions?" It had to be. After all, why would he do such a thing to Chell?

Drinking to Forget

The point of view of someone looking down into a glass of red wine that they're holding. Judging by the skin tone of the hand, the someone in question must be Foulques, and judging by the way the image blurs from time to time, this likely wasn't the first glass of wine he'd had. The rest of the surroundings, though similarly blurred, seem far too green and bright for the Isle, and the deep forest green cloth of his sleeve looks much finer than anything anyone had ever seen him in, including himself. In the background, conversation and laughter can be heard, distant and muted.

"Gods, what was I thinking?!", his slightly slurred voice said. "I must have harangued her for nearly half a bell! If she only chooses to have me expelled from the palace I should consider myself fortunate..."

He growled under his breath. "I see this place's sense of humor remains as poor as ever," he said. "Or perhaps Nymia's..." Still though, the mention of a palace made him wonder if that was meant to be Auradon. And if so, who could he have offended badly enough to make him think that drinking himself into a stupor would be necessary to deal with it?

Getting Schooled?

Another clearly from his own point of view, standing in some sort of classroom, glaring down at a middle aged woman with a prim hairstyle and clothing in shades of soft blue and lavender. She was all but backed up against the room's blackboard, gazing up at him with fear or shock. He was already speaking, berating her.

"-how it is, isn't it? That those who are beneath you must take whatever scraps of hope their betters deign to throw them and be grateful for it. And they must never forget that it is only by your kindness that they are allowed to remain. How merciful of you to remind them that but a word from you could snatch those scraps away, that a simple mistake their betters would be forgiven without thought could have them cast back on the midden. Oh yes, I know-"

"Whoever I claimed to have been haranguing last time, I've apparently added school marms to the list," he said, scrubbing a hand over his face with a bitter sigh. "That could only have been Auradon, but what could have happened to provoke such a rant? Assuming it's anything at all, and not merely made up from whole cloth."

I'll Make A Man Out Of You

Oddly enough, the last vision comes with music backing it, though if there are any actual musicians, they aren't seen. The music is primarily composed of militaristic style drums and horns. Foulques is seen from the outside again, and gone is his leather and chain armor and bone tipped spear. Instead he wears a suit of rather spiky-looking metal armor and caries a matching metal spear. He seems to be directing a group of beings in physical drills; a large percentage seem to be human by there are a number of anthropomorphic animals and what looks like a satyr mixed in as well.

A man with Asian features stands next to Foulques as he directs the group, and from what Foulques sings- yes, sings- he finds their performance extremely sub-par.

"Tranquil as a forest
But on fire within
Once you find your center
You are sure to win!

You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot!
And you haven't got a clue!
Somehow I'll make a man out of you!"

The focus then shifts to various others as they sing, most while struggling with their tasks.

A young man. "I'm never gonna catch my breath..."

The satyr. "Say goodbye to those who knew me!"

An andromorphic dog. "Boy was I fool in school for cutting gym...."

The Asian-featured man. "This guy's got 'em scared to death."

A brown haired woman. "Hope he doesn't see right through me..."

An anthropomorphic bear. "Now I really wish that I knew how to swim...!"

The song clearly continues, but there the vision abruptly ends.

"What in the...?", Foulques said. "Why would I be singing if I was training people like that? If that was even what I was doing. This makes no sense at all!" And who was that Far Eastern looking man who seemed to disapprove of his technique? Why was he wearing steel armor? What in the shells was going on?

Re: Foulques | OTA

[elianne]

Eli had been coming out of her hidey hole to try and find some food. Instead she stumbled on what looked like an odd scene of Chell and Foulques fighting. But she came in right at the end of it, and then it vanished. She backed off quickly, swearing - or trying to swear - at about a thousand words per minute.

[mist_the_point]

Too late Eli, you've been spotted. Foulques sighed. "There's no need to flee, girl," he said. "Whatever that vision was, it has naught to do with you."

[elianne]

"Why... why were you trying to kill him?" she asked, voice shakey. She was trying for defiant and brave. She sounded small and scared.

[elianne]

OOC explainy things

((OOC notes for Eli, so I don't have to type the same things over and over.

First up: Eli is the one I am most inspired with for this event, so she is going to have a metric TON of them. So I'm gonna only start with one or two, but more will happen throughout the thread as needed/wanted.

Thing the second: If I say Kaylin, I mean Eli. She goes by Kaylin later and I will probably use a mix of "older Eli" and Kaylin.

Thricewise: The Barrani all look the same (with very very few exceptions) so I will rarely use Barrani names even if someone has seen a memory with that Barrani before, unless/until it is spoken in the memory bit. Also so I don't have to keep describing them, unless said otherwise all Barani have long jet black hair that is straight as a pin and never tangles or gets in the way of anything. They are inhumanly beautiful with perfect flawless pale skin, slender builds, and eyes with colour as clear as good gems. Their fingers are long and graceful, and unless said otherwise they move with utter grace. Also unless said otherwise presume they have a fixed polite but disinterested expression, even if the context of what they are saying implies otherwise.))

In the case of the forth: unless said otherwise, if a tabard is mentioned, it is a field of blue and grey with a flying hawk picked out in gold thread.

CWs:

violence, child abuse, abuse, murder, violent horrible deaths. Mild gore. Body horror. Racism (based on species more than anything else), horror elements.

If there are any specific things you want to avoid, please let me know OOC so I know what memories to not include in the thread.

The first horrible memory

Elianne was on the floor, partially sitting, mostly struggling. Her face was held by hands.

There were two people with her. One was a man of middle age, perhaps. Fit. He wore a tabard and had feathery wings, partially spread.

The other man was older and looked severe. His expression was twisted and unpleasant. He was the one holding Elianne's face. He didn't have wings, but he had antennae on his head and they were pressed into her forehead, connecting them.

"The deaths?" the man with wings asked.

The other man's expression twisted worse. Eli froze and looked sick, then started screaming, trying again to fight.

"She knew of them. Some of them," the man said, his voice rough, and loud to be heard over her screaming. "She was not the cause."

"Does she know who was?" the winged man asked, voice crisp, his blue eyes cold.

"She..."

Eli's screams changed, got worse, more raw. Less defiant, more pain filled. Foulques, if he saw this one would recognize the scream. It was the exact scream she made when she found the dead girls on the Isle the month before.

And during the whole thing, her arms were glowing faintly through the dark cloth of her shirt.

Eli stumbled back, sheep pale, eyes wide with terror. "No..." she gasped. "No..... please..." she whispered. She whimpered. She begged.

The second horrible memory

Eli was standing with a human woman in her late 20s at oldest. The woman looked kindly, almost maternal. She was walking along side Eli who was wearing clothes that were too large for her, but clean and in good repair with pant hems and sleeves rolled so that she wasn't tripping and at least a little of her hands were visible.

A few Barrani were carrying stretchers past them, bodies on the stretchers were covered with cloths.

The woman turned to Elianne. "You've seen corpses before."

Eli nodded bleakly. "I thought it would be different here, across the bridge." Her face was the very picture of trying to seem strong as her dreams shattered. "What did they do?" she asked, her voice hitching.

"Pardon?" the woman asked.

"Why did they kill them?" the small child asked.

The woman stared at her for a moment, then her eye brows went into her hair. "The Barrani did not kill them," she said, vehemently. She grabbed Eli by the shoulders and pulled at her as the scene faded.

Chara | OTA | CW: So much death. Genocide. Monsters

[fallen_child]

Quick OOC note

while Chara and Frisk have some visual similarities, they will not appear to be the same child. Frisk is clearly a different child of about the same age, who also wears a striped shirt.

Unless said otherwise, all Chara memories are from Chara's point of view and Chara will not be visible.

Flowey's First Fury

A small child in the darkness, standing before a bright yellow and white flower with a face in it.

The flower looked disgusted. "Is this a joke? Are you brain dead? RUN. INTO. THE. BULLETS!!!!"

The child dodged a round of sharp looking white things that went flying at them.

The flower took on an evil looking face and spoke in a deeper far less friendly voice. "You know what's going on here, don't you? You just wanted to see me suffer. A bunch of small sharp looking things surrounded the child and Chara both. "Die," the flower said simply and ominously.


"What... what was that?" Chara asked, confused. "Why was there a human...?" The kid was both shaken and angry.

Warnings Of The Mother

The same child from the first vision was following a goat woman in purple down a very purple hallway.

"That's her!" Chara said, excitedly. "Asriel's mom! Queen Toriel mom lady!" Chara's whole face lit up as the scene continued.

"Every human that falls down here meets the same fate," The goat woman said, her voice cold but heavy with pain.

"I... I'm sorry," Chara whispered, desperate for her to hear, but unable to speak any louder. Chara was openly crying at the pain in her voice.

"I have seen it again and again," the woman continued, the same cold but pained voice. "They come. They leave. They die."

Chara crumpled. "I... I hurt her so badly..." the child hiccoughed, sobbing. "I just wanted to help! I thought... I thought we could make her happy...."

The woman, unaware of them, was still talking, he back still to the child and to those watching the future memory.

"You naive child. If you leave the Ruins... They... ASGORE.... Will kill you."

"WHAT??!?!?!??!" Chara cried, trying to reach the apparition of the goat woman. But the vision faded, and if no one caught Chara, the kid face planted into the muck.

Warnings

[mist_the_point]

Fortunately someone did catch them. Someone named Foulques. He caught Chara's shoulder, at once steadying them and holding them back. "She cannot hear you," he said. "It's merely an illusion." He scowled at the spot where the goat-woman had been standing. "This place is far too fond of them."

Re: Warnings

[fallen_child]

"Why?! Why would she say that?! Mr. King Dad would never hurt anyone! And she loves him! We all love him! Everyone loves King Asgore!"

He was so desperate, so miserable.

[mist_the_point]

"That, I couldn't say," he said. "Even assuming these visions are to be trusted and aren't made up from whole cloth for our torment, a great many things can happen that might change a person. Especially those in positions of power, who do not have the luxury of choosing only for themselves." Of course far too many did choose only for themselves and their ambitions, but he doubted this was such a case.

Vash | OTA | Warnings for disabling injuries, Violence, Disassociation Death and Suicide

[plantcounselor]

The First Gate

It hits him suddenly as he's dozing off, just a wave of panic and horror that overwhelms him and the sight of his arm extended, the feeling of power coursing through his body and manifesting in a single, scintillating orb or bright darkness.

It's sucking everything up; bodies, guns, debris, it's going to take Luida! It's going to take Nai! He can't stop it, what is it? It's going to kill them all! He is going to kill them all!

"...is this me?"

There was a shout and then everything just stopped! And then pain, seering and making the nerves of his left arm scream when his voice refused.

His arm. His arm was gone. Knives had cut off his arm.

The vision went black, and he found himself gasping awake in the little corner he'd tucked himself into in one of the abandoned classrooms of the Isle, screaming and clawing at his upper left arm. He was shaking, panting, panicking, and he didn't know how to stop. Not even the feeling of his limb, safe and whole, was enough to distract him from the horror trapping him in the moment, or slow his ragged panting for breath.

Death By A Thousand Cuts

After that, the memories almost seem...tame. Almost.
And they always seem to be the same thing in a different flavor; fear or worry or anger followed by a loud crack of thunder and then another sharp, seering pain. Sometimes it was in the gut. Sometimes his leg. Other times, it was tearing through his shoulder or riddling his lungs with white-hot fire.

It was after the third one that he realized the sound he was hearing was gunshots. It was also around that time that the shock of it stopped being a shock, leaving him stunned in place, eyes wide and unseeing as he clutched at phantom injuries, and started becoming almost mundane. The pain was still intense, but it no longer left him frozen for minutes at a time or sent him collapsing to the ground.

Perhaps worst of all, eventually, he began to accept it, only allowing himself a momentary gasp as he clutched at the invisible injury before continuing on his way.
The sound of his voice in his head - deeper than it was now, sadder - began repeating a sort of mantra after each one.

"It's fine. It's what I deserve. At least this way, I can be good for something."

The Long Haul

From time to time, usually when he was just waking up, he would find himself for brief moments back home. It would almost be a happy thought, if it weren't for the ever present ache, omnipresent over his entire body, a low, throbbing burn that something told him was normal. Just a bad morning. Must be the cold.
Or a baropressure drop in the atmosphere.

Everywhere the phantom injuries had landed, a persistent twinge had settled. The only thing that didn't hurt was his arm. It rarely hurt anymore, unless the wires got crossed or the phantom limb decided to act up. otherwise, it was just vaguely numb, only pressure and weight to tell him there was anything there at all. A part of him, but not.

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe he'd be able to afford a hot bath at the next inn, or a little pouch of epsom salts or some acetaminophen.

In the grand scheme of things, he was older than any human had ever lived. When they lasted as many years as he'd surpassed decades ago, they all ended up plagued with bad joints and aches and pains every day. At least he still had a pretty face. They didn't notice as often the way the pain plagued him, not looking as young as he did. He hated when they noticed something was off and began fussing.

Even after those flashes of memory ended, he rarely felt like getting up out of his nook. It was like the mental impression of the pain decided to linger longer than the visions, leaving him laying and staring numbly at the rotting boards of the ceiling over his head.

Promises Kept Too Late
(CW: Death)

Rollo was staring at him, hulking in form, body and mind warped, but all he saw was the little boy he'd promised he would come back and save, staring back at him in a merciful moment of clarity.

Yes! He remembered! He'd gotten through to him, it would be ok!

And then he heard a voice shouting in anger from nearby that mafe his heart ache in a way none of his aches had before, and with a flash, a beam of light pierced Rollo's head, and they were tumbling.

He could breathe again, but he gasped for air, reaching out, crying out. Rollo had been shot, he was falling!

No, Wolfwood, no, why, why,
how could you do it? Why?

When he regained his senses, he was back on the Isle again, and there was no warped man little boy's body on the ground at his feet. He was alone.

Rollo? Wolfwood...?

Names he knew but didn't. Something about them made his heart hurt, made him mourn, and he couldn't help the soft, stuttered sobs he gave into the empty darkness.

Brotherhood (CW: Suicide)

The slender, suited, silver-haired young man stared in a moment of recognition, and next to Vash, he heard Wolfwood's voice whisper out in relief. He'd done it, he'd gotten through! Vash was so proud of him! He knew he could!

And then the other man gave a blood-curdling scream, stumbled, put a gun to his head.

Pulled the trigger.

"LIVIO!"

Wolfwood was screaming as the body fell over the side of the sandsteamer, his voice ragged and horrified, and Vash felt his heart shattering at the sound. No, he deserved better! They deserved better! He'd tried so hard! He'd done so good, he hadn't killed anyone and he didn't deserve to be punished for finally doing what was right! Livio didn't have to die! Wolfwood deserved to have his brother back!

When he came to, sitting on the edge of a windowsill, he was crying softly and rubbing unconsciously at the skin over the ache in his chest.

The memory of dark eyes hiding their pain behind a pair of dark sunglasses and thinking he couldn't see right through him regardless rolled through his mind. Why did Vash suddenly feel so lonely? Why did he miss him so much? Who was he?

Special. Safe. Warm and sad and afraid, the Vash in his memories supplied. A friend.

More fond than that, maybe. It was hard to tell, with everything so fuzzy and abrupt. But yes, definitely special.

The Long Haul- AKA grumpy lancer attempts to show he cares

[mist_the_point]

Foulques would be lying if he said he understood half of the illusory flashes that came from Vash. But it was clear the boy was having a bad time of it, especially isolating himself as he was, and this bit of not-quite memory only confirmed it.

He didn't approach immediately, but instead left and returned a short time later with a blanket and a chipped mug full of fish soup. "This place is overly fond of illusions," he said by way of a greeting as he entered the room where Vash had holed up. "Especially of late, it seems." He offered the blanket first. "Here. Even that coat of yours can only do so much against the chill."

Sun/Moon ⭐ CW for the staff tasering Moon?

[dualityinjest]

Freddy

The view was framed by a tall archway; outside the threshold was tiled floor and wide open spaces, and a family in present-day clothing -- a dad and two kids, one a teenage boy, and one a very small girl -- readying to walk away. The girl held her dad's hand, waving happily, grinning. "You too!" she called.

Sun waved a little back, a gentle side-to-side motion, watching as she was pulled away by her family... and then without moving, looked up, all the way to the upper level -- the second story was up higher than not, given the theme park's sprawling nature -- and there on the mezzanine, just past the metal railing, were a few more children and adults, other park guests, stepping out of one of the rooms up there as their party wrapped up. Among them was a certain seven-foot-tall plastic action-figure-looking anthropomorphic bear. He certainly looked to be in good spirits, grinning as he bid the kids goodbye, gave a a few high-fives and fistbumps, and then turned to head off to the left, leaving the humans there behind.

The family that had just left the daycare's play-area was heading up the stairs nearby; the little girl squealed out "Freddy!" and the bear turned his head to look around to see who'd called him, not pausing in walking... and before spotting the child, caught sight of Sun. His expression changed as he did, smile fading, stance stiffening a little... and he looked away again, suddenly trying to pretend he hadn't heard anything, hadn't meant to look that direction....

It was odd, though. For all that the bear's shell pieces were just as solid and unchanging as Sun's, his body language was every bit as expressive, if someone were paying attention -- and somehow, his blue eyes managed to be, as well. The look in them... that had been fear, for that brief moment... and then the scene was gone again.

Baton

This... this was Moon in action, not Sun. That hissing cackle, as the jester crouched low, dancing from foot to foot just outside the desk.

There was a human behind it, having gotten out of their seat at the computer stations. It was hard to see them in the dark, but the light of their flashlight and the noises they were making would let the viewer in on their activity, their frantic search through desk drawers. It only lasted a few seconds, and then they'd pulled out something dark, something about the size and shape of the cardboard tube from within a roll of paper towels... something that after only a second or two, the human finally turning it on, whined with a faint electrical sort of sound.

Moon crept over to the side of the desk, putting his long fingers up over the edge as he began to raise his head to peek up over it. He hadn't even spoken yet, hadn't done more than approached the desk... and the human held the flashlight up to see where he was, a mutter of "you creepy motherf-", as they swung the thing they'd readied.

There was a crackling sound as they swung it, and an even louder snap and a bright white flash at the spot as it connected with the side of Moon's mask, a lightning bolt in miniature... and he jerked backwards, screaming in a way that would've just about destroyed any human throat. It was short-lived, at least, the red glow of his eyes flickering but not fading as he hit the floor and lay there for a few seconds, his whimper sounding hoarse and strained. Clearly, the human had some sort of weapon that gave an exceptionally nasty electric shock -- those familiar with lightning-magic might recognize it as a lesser single-target version, but still the kind of thing that might be able to very painfully end someone of a lesser constitution. The human backed away from that side of the desk... and Moon rolled over to pick himself back up carefully, shakily, his strained near-whispered cry of "No hitting! Naughty!" nearly lost under the creaks of his joints, and then the scene ended.

Freddy

[mist_the_point]

What even was he seeing? It reminded him vaguely of a more child-oriented version of the Gold Saucer, all bright lights and gaudy colors. And some sort of beastman? No, another mammet in the shape of one. This 'Freddy' had clearly been designed by the same craftsman who'd designed Sun; the odd, exaggerated proportions were too similar. And his interactions with the children fit with how Sun had described his job, the beast-mammet seeming genial and playful.

And yet when he chanced to look in Sun's direction... was that fear? But why? If they worked in the same... establishment, surely he must know that Sun, at least, was harmless...

The illusion vanished as quickly as it came though, and Foulques scowled at where the illusory Freddy had been. "Curse this place and its illusions," he said. "At the very least, it could have shown use something of use..."

Re: Freddy

[dualityinjest]

Sun was easily enough missed at first, interestingly enough -- he'd stayed off to the side there, silent and still during it, watching. No creaking squeaks of his joints to give him away... and when he spoke up again, it was rather softly, though his tone stayed light, trying to brush it off. "He was... probably just busy. They keep him really busy a lot. Like... all the time...."

But his rays were tucked at least halfway in as he stood there at his usual partial crouch; his halfhearted attempt at cheer wasn't going to fool anyone. "Does this kind of thing happen often here?"

[mist_the_point]

"Too much so for my liking," he said. "But in truth this recent spate of them is the first time in awhile. Whatever prompted them this time, I hope it passes quickly."

He turned to face Sun more directly, his frown becoming more thoughtful. "But that was more than him simply having other tasks to attend to," he said. "Though that was clearly part of it, there was fear there and no mistaking it. Why would he fear you though? Surely he must know that you're harmless as you are now."

Cont from previous thread

[fallen_child]

Chara cheered up a little at that. "I can cut up the b'scotch for the pie?" Chara asked.

[mist_the_point]

"We haven't means to make a pie," he said. As they approached the area where Chell was cooking, Chara would be able to smell smoke, though the fire was clearly well controlled. "And even if we did, I'm not especially fond of sweets. Should we ever have the means though, perhaps I can make you an eel pie, though I suspect mine would hardly compare to Mother Miounne's."

"For the present, though, fish soup is far more likely, perhaps with some popotoes. You could help with cutting either, though if the fish, you'd best have Chell show you how before attempting it yourself. And speaking of whom..." They reached a particular doorway and passed through it into the room when Chell was cooking. "Chara, this is Chell. Chell, this is Chara, the child who has been staying with me."

[elvendryad]

Chell looked up from where he was still setting up the fire, prodding it with a metal rod he'd acquired, to rearrange the wood a little more... and pushing the rocks closer into it, to give the pot -- the little cauldron? -- a better base to sit on. It was off to the side, water already in it, ready to be used.

So were the fish, sitting there on the wood being used as a cutting board. One of them, headless though it was, quickly flopped up, the muscles twitching as if it were still alive. Chell ignored it, focusing on the two that'd stepped in.

"Ah... hence the bedding." He'd seen that, then, at least in passing. He eyed the kid, giving them a little smile. "Well met, young friend."

[fallen_child]

What a funny looking monster! Chara gave Chell a smile. It would have been brighter, but they were still bothered by those weird scenes.

They looked to Foulques to say "I don't think I'd like eel pie, even if your mother did make it. Might be shocking, though."

Then to Chell. "Big brother said maybe I could help cut fish or popotoes? What kind of toes are they exactly?"

[awkward_turtleduck]

Zuko had taken up residence in a secluded classroom by want of necessity, but not without considerable distaste. He'd pushed together all the in tact desks to make a sleeping surface elevated from the disgusting floors, and barricaded the door with whatever pieces of chairs he could whenever he was forced to sleep for a few hours. He thanked Agni he still had his threadbare sleeping roll, and it was always on his person when he left his room, as were all his things.

That being said, at the moment he was curled asleep on his desk bad in the corner most obscured from the small windows of the classroom doors. All his worldly belongings shoved under his head as the worlds most lumpy and uncomfortable pillow to keep them safe. He gripped his knife in his sleep, despite the way it was currently rendered useless by this ridiculous island. It's familiar handle was a comfort regardless.

Zuko Alone

The first memory, though Zuko doesn't know that's what it was, began similar enough to any of his nightmares that he didn't note anything out of the normal about it. In confusing, staticky bits, he sees a young boy guiding his ostrich-horse as he walks behind him. A family smiling warmly, and then their faces twisting into first worry about something he can't here a messenger telling them, and then fear, this time directed at him as he bends fire at an angry Earth Kingdom thug of a soldier. The last scene is the young boy throwing Zuko's own knife on the ground at his feet as angry villagers scream around them.

An angry mob of screaming faces was a staple of his nightmares. The only difference was that he usually recognized them. This mob was entirely strange to him. Though, it wasn't not enough to pull him from his slumber. He merely grunted in his sleep and rolled over fitfully.

Lightning Doesn't Strike Twice

The second scene was much more disturbing. It began much the same way, in near incomprehensible snippets of blurring colours. He could make out Azula on the other end of his fiery fists, falling, blinking awake to several blurry figures cornering his sister. He could make out his uncles voice, and his pained grunt as Azula's fire connected. He cried out, and the scene stuttered to him cradling his uncles head in his lap, yelling and throwing fire in a desperate attempt to keep the Avatar and his friends away from them.

Then an abrupt change. He was still yelling. Rain or tears running down his face, it was hard to tell. This scene was startlingly clear after the muddle of what had come before. He could make out the bright slashes of lightning streaking through the sky, the deafening thunder, and his own voice shouting above the din of the pelting rain. "Go on, strike me! You've never held back before!"

He startled awake with a shout, unaware he'd been yelling in his sleep for a while. He was out of breath, his heart racing. Had his uncle- no it was a dream. A nightmare. His uncle was fine. Somewhere. He curled forward, clutching a hand to his chest and trying to calm his racing breath. He was too loud. His chest was tight, his eye ached, the way his scar often did in times of distress, like the phantom pain knew when it was least convenient to rear its unwelcome head.

As secluded as his room might have been. Several minutes of shouting echoing down the empty halls was bound not to go unnoticed. Would anyone investigate? Would anyone care to push past the barricade to see if he was alright?