balance_logs | Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 2

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Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 2

	Once you sacrifice something here, you don't get it back.
	NAVIGATION

Click here for the RNG thread!

1. THE MANAGER'S CHALLENGE

A. MEET THE BOSS

Once upon a time, there was a man, a woman, and a little boy. They were a family. They loved each other very much.

Once upon a time, there was a monster, a protector, and a dreamer. They never asked to be a family. One by one, they fell under the pressures of each other.

There are always layers to any story. There are at least two sides to any reality. When a man kills his wife with no consequences, what is the end of the story? Will the universe allow such an unhappy ending? Or are there forces that drag it on long past its natural span?

With a single act of resistance, four Reclaimers have Remembered and thereby broken the cycle of the Night Show. But this isn't the end. This is barely the middle. Because the Wonderland you've seen so far is a layer of new pink skin over an ugly infection, one that goes deeper than anything the Bureau has seen so far. You can see what's underneath, now, as the theme park is whipped away in an implosion of void-space to show you . . .

Emptiness. A space that is no space, blank and white in all directions. Free of gravity, every Reclaimer in the park — and, shockingly, Angus McDonald — is held in place with hands cupped and outstretched in front of them, all facing the same way. They cannot move. They cannot speak. They are the audience.

Before them stands a man. Slim, tall, nondescript. He wears a bow-tie with a pattern of Rolands on it. And he is smiling.

"Welcome to my Wonderland! My name is Adrian Morgenstern, and I am the Manager. It's a pleasure to meet you. Each and every one of you have had a very interesting effect on my Wonderland in my absence. Some more than others, and at greater cost to yourselves — but I encourage individual choice in Wonderland, and ownership of personal consequences. Suffering is a part of life. It builds character.

"So, I am proud of you. So proud, in fact, that I've decided to bring you all backstage. You kept trying to see behind the curtain, didn't you? You'll really enjoy it. There is a great deal to do, so much to explore, and so many games to play. Every second you breathe in Wonderland is a game with stratospheric stakes. You're very brave to take the risk.

"And to make things more interesting, I have set up a very special game for you little detectives, who so love to stick their noses into strange secret corners. I challenge you to a Scavenger Hunt. You accept, because you have no choice. Here is what you must gather:

"The vacant bodies of Leonardo da Vinci, Minato Arisato, and Henrik Merryweather. The people who have been lured here after your carelessness shattered their livelihood. Have you located them all already? Or did you miss a few? Ten lost little elves, misled and apprehended. And, lastly—

"My son. Bring me my son. Bring Niel to me, and I will give you the Compact."

There's a crack in the facade. A literal crack; something in the structure of his face is off suddenly, like something has fractured and slid. One cheekbone higher than the other, a hairline fracture underneath his eye. You blink, and it's fixed. His smile is wide, but his face is whole.

Suddenly, in each Reclaimer's outstretched hands (and in Angus's), there is a single three-sided die. On each side is written a word: BODY, MIND, or SPIRIT.

"Don't lose these, now! These are your cheat codes. If you find yourself struggling with the scavenger hunt and in need of a little help, you can play a little game of chance to give Wonderland something of yours. It won't take anything that will kill you, don't worry. But it will take things that matter, and it won't give them back.

"One more thing, and then I'll let you go. I've given you some cheats, but in order to keep you from finishing the game too quickly, I'm taking something away, too. Everyone, please take good care of yourselves while you're here. You're all precious cargo. And there's no healing in Wonderland."

He winks. And blinks out of existence. And suddenly, the nonspace you occupied is gone, and you are Somewhere Else.

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2. WONDERLAND, UNDER THE SKIN

B. THE ILLUSION COMES DOWN

CW: Emetophobia, body horror, reality caving in on itself

For a short time after Adrian leaves, everything is as it should be. Wonderland is Wonderland, but quiet and still aside from the background music. After a few breaths, heartbeats slowing, the music warps and bends like rotting wood, going further and further off key until it grinds. Clangs once, loudly, down to your bones, and halts. The world freezes in absolute silence.

Then. A sizzling noise. Burning paper. The illusion starts to die.

To your left, the floor peels up like it's made of paper, mist, waving like a mirage before your eyes. Colorful red velvet floors reveal dark green and glowing violet moss and fungus. Gold tile floors give way to ebony wood, gone rock solid in atrophy. Disease. A small black vine reaches from the floor towards you, towards Life, but withers and hardens before your eyes. You need to leave.

To your right, a wall bleeds. Is it actually blood? Sap? The color seems to run away from your eyes - goldredwhiteyellowblackblackblack - covered with an iridescent sheen, an oil slick, pouring out and up and towards in ways that burn your eyes and soul. You need to leave.

All around you, the Wonderland you've come to know burns like shadows in sunlight, or sunlight to shadow. The ceiling and walls and everything morphs to the inside of some unfathomably large tree. Roots and branches and gouged out holes, forming paths of the most non-ecludian sort. Some... things out of sight climb up and down in the darkness, looking for purchase, escape, travel. Far too many limbs, or none at all. You need to LEAVE.

Not yet. You want to help. You need to help. You grab the nearest non-reclaimer - an elf, a visitor, someone - and they are both far too light and far too heavy. Stiff like wood in your hands. Their skin is gray, ashen, black veins in porcelain skin. Eyes gone solid black, they try to say something, but all that comes out is a spew of thick black tar - leaking from their eyes, ears, nose, vomit, cracks in their joints and once-flesh. The amorphous Black they just expelled pulses, then skitters down between the wood at your feet.

You look at your skin. Your veins are too dark. Visible. Present. A weight builds in your heart,

The Reclaimers (and Angus) can still move, bolt for what was once a cascade of colors, lights and joy. Now it's a gaping maw, jagged edges like splintered teeth around a hole like a cavity, sap like pus seeping out of the edges. The once-elevator now-branches bring you back to Shadowdale, covered in a charcoal smog that seems to smile at you from every angle.

C. THE CAVALRY ARRIVES

Lucretia, after receiving Sans' text about the current state of affairs within Wonderland, is faced with a decision that only she could make. Years ago, she came upon this place and lost decades of her life, all in an attempt to stop the mechanations of this horrific landscape. Her biggest failure, a thorn in her pride, she assembled the Bureau of Balance not long after her visit in order to take down places like this. People or things who obtain a power they should not have. She doesn't know why Wonderland is the way that it is, she can only guess that the Grand Relic has corrupted the World Tree down to its core. But more than that, more than the years she put onto her life for a wager of chess, more than the meticulous, maddening obsession she has with destroying every single one of these objects that threaten the world- her Reclaimers are here. Her Reclaimers. Against the judgment of most of her advisers and Moon Base employees, she grits her teeth and holds tight to her staff.

Carey, Killian, and Lucretia descend upon the forests of the Cormanthor region. It takes them far, far too long to make it through the wilds. The forest can sense when someone is coming to destroy it, and thus, sends everything it can against them. Enchantment after enchantment gets flung their way, but she knows better. She's seen Wonderland before and she reckons that no one has ever visited this place twice.

Arriving in Shadowdale, she looks up to see Yggdrasil in its sad, sorry state.

Clasping her staff in place, finally here, she is resplendent in her detestation of this unholy place. A few of you might be there at the base of the tree when Wonderland transforms into its hellscape, and you might see her approaching, purposeful, as if every step is one of reclamation and poise.

Angus McDonald looks upon her and tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is that's going on. Lucretia warmly smiles at him. "Hello, Angus. I've heard much about you."

"Ma'am?"

But her attention is turned to another little boy, terrified otherwise. His face is darkened, sickly colors rooting through his veins and showing up against a pale skin. Niel. Ah, she remembers him, too.

Her face gives no sign of anger, of fear, or resentment.

"Don't worry, Niel. We'll free you from that monster."

She doesn't renege on her promises. Lucretia slams her white oak staff on the ground and in an instant, a flash of brilliant luminescence fills all of Shadowdale, expelling the darkness that lingers around the corners of the sleeping town. She erects a magic dome from the center of her origin, expanding out from her as she concentrates on her magic. Lucretia's gifted in the arcane herself, you see, and a giant Globe of Invulnerability spell now blocks entrance nor exit from this zone. And for the first time in centuries, Shadowdale sees sunlight.

Carey and Killian flank her. She needs to concentrate on this spell in order to keep it active, and they're there to stop anyone who thinks about getting in her way.

D. NEW RULES OF WONDERLAND

It's a zero-sum game here that Adrian is wagering. Lucretia didn't bring Dr. Tank down to Shadowdale for a very specific reason; an expert chess player herself, she always thinks in terms of move by move encounters. She figures that the rules would change quickly once the Reclaimers had figured out what was behind the curtain, so to speak. There's no way that Wonderland would allow healing or restoration of a body within its confines. She aims to cut this place off from the outside world. To quarantine it away from escape and cage it inward like an animal. No, Dr. Tank would be useless here, and if anything... dangerous, to put their chief of medical staff here in the middle of the mission.

And thus, no one can come in or out of the area once she's erected the barrier. Returning to base is no longer an option for the remainder of the mission, including any and all facilities provided by its administration: Bender's food, Fantasy Costco, items you may have left behind, etc.

Those of you who have opted out of the horror plot for the month will most likely be spending your time in Shadowdale for the next two weeks, providing back up and support to Lucretia. The work you do out here is equally as important as the work that needs to be done on the inside. Whereas the forest was quiet and still before, it seems to have taken on a new life of its own, now that it senses the Source of its life deeply threatened. Killian takes command from here on out. Anyone not willing to go up to Wonderland needs to stay down here and stop the encroaching darkness from attacking.

And she means that, literally.

As you look around the outskirts of town, the dome extending well beyond the vantage point you can see, there are creatures, made of darkness, dripping a deeply red sap that sparkles in the newfound texture of light Lucretia's spell provides. One bounds forward from the edge of a building, four legs crawling and made of pure shadow, and attempts to make an attack towards the Director. Carey cuts it down as it splits into two and vanquishes into a dark dust.

"What the hell are these ugly gods-damned things?!"

Some of you might've noticed it before in your rolls, but in the light provided by Lucretia's spell, there's no denying it. Negativity forms a dark cloud straight from Carey's mouth, as her eyes go wide at the sight of it. The monster at her feet, now a cloud of dust, seems to feed on it as it reassembles back into its form.

What the actual fuck.

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3. A TASTE OF GOOD SUFFERING

E. REEDS GROWING OUT OF MY FINGERTIPS

The Wonderland the Reclaimers and Angus find themselves in now looks nothing like the Wonderland they left behind. The feel of it is similar, except that the creeping dread has officially crept. It's here now, fully-formed and breathing down the back of every single neck. What was whispered before is screamed now: Wonderland is here to hurt you. The fun it seeks is not for you, but fuel for something else, something you haven't found yet.

Nonetheless, you're here to feed it. And so, you begin to realize, is Yggdrasil. The naturally-minded among you begin to realize it with sickening certainty: the roots, the veins, the stiffness and the ever-present tarlike substance stem from the sickness of the World Tree. Wonderland, and all of you, are within Yggdrasil's rot now — and as much as it tries to reject this magic, the insidious power of the Compact has taken over too far. The tree is dying. Inside of it as you are, you can practically feel it.

The entire place is a warren, structured like the tree it's draining the life out of. From the central trunk, the central locations that used to be Squares slide off from the main body in long, twisting branches that turn in nonsensical directions before abruptly coming to a halt. Each Square exists in uncomfortable parody here — or maybe the original was the cruel joke, because the purpose of Wonderland is suffering.

At any turn in your path through the channels of Wonderland, you'll be swimming through darkness creeping in on all sides. No light can penetrate past your periphery, with very few exceptions; you are a moving lantern in this blackness, functioning on faith that whatever comes at you, a mystery until the last moment, will be something you can handle.

Stumble into Battle Square and find yourself face-to-face with a monster of vicious intelligence and amorphous shape, delighted to cut you to ribbons over a period of hours while telling you every secret shame you've ever harbored. In Event Square, a knot midway up the endless trunk, time goes taffy-sticky as you trip through loops of memory blasted on every wall, loud and confusing and overwhelming, going on for what seems like forever. There's more, of course — more discrete spaces than you could even see in Wonderland. Any manner of horror you can consider can be found here, as vast as Yggdrasil itself.

One or two places, though, will be particularly easy to recognize — and difficult to escape.

F. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU

Sometimes, investigation gives us little tips and tricks for solving the next stage of the puzzle. For example: Michael found a map to the mirror maze, back in the first iteration of Wonderland. But unfortunately, sometimes the setting also cheats. Ghost Square is still here — but maps aren't going to do you any good.

Enter this section of Wonderland and the door behind you doesn't exist anymore. It doesn't pop out of existence; it just isn't, like it never was, like maybe you imagined it in the first place. A hallway, apparently manmade, stretches out in front of you, dark and cold. It appears to be approximately 60 feet long. The walls are black. When you reach out to touch them, they are freezing to the touch and too smooth to be natural, not shiny enough to be polished, too hard to be plant matter. You have no idea what they are, but touching them saps the warmth out of you, so you stop.

You keep walking, a halo of light around you but stretching no further than a few feet in any direction. You walk for 60 feet. The hallway keeps going. It hasn't gotten longer, but it hasn't gotten shorter, either. It keeps going. It keeps going. You continue until your feet hurt or you get sick of this bullshit, whichever comes first, and then you turn back the way you came. Maybe you think you'll see a door, or maybe you're not thinking very clearly anymore.

Back the way you came, there is a staircase. It wasn't there before. You certainly didn't pass it. It spirals down into the depths. It could be a story deep or a hundred. You have no way to know. You turn back towards the direction you originally walked, and there is only a wall. It's the spiral staircase or it's nothing. You go down.

As you descend, it gets colder. Colder and darker, and the darkness and cold press against you, creep under your skin and make you shake. The halo of light around you begins to dim the deeper you go. If you go deep enough, it will be hard to tell what's light and what's your imagination. Because really, honestly? The longer you stay in this place, the more you begin to think you're hearing things. Whispers just beyond your ability to decipher. A soft laugh, like that of a child or someone trying to stay quiet. And if you stop, or rest, or feel something negative — anger, frustration, sorrow, despair, it doesn't matter, because a black fog drifts out from between your lips.

And in the distance, something roars. Just a little bit closer every time.

Every once in a while, as you descend the staircase, you will pass a mirror with a red X taped near the top. Sometimes you'll see yourself in it. Sometimes you'll see something worse. When you get right down to it, what you get out of the world has a lot to do with what you put in — so we hope you're staying positive, or you might see something really nasty.

G. THE SONG BEYOND THE SONG

The aftermath of MARIA's destruction, the Area That Was Once The Night Show is a blasted husk. More than anywhere else, the walls ooze Yggdrasil's lifeblood from where something... was. Something large used to be chained here. Open gashes and empty sockets line the walls and floor. A large root knotted like a spine shoots through the very center of the room, a support pillar, entwined into the ceiling and floor and Everything of this cavern. Growths like tumors rise from the floor - what was once gambling tables look more like grasping hands. A few curl into themselves, knocked over, shattered to splinters in the wake of what was once there. Maria is gone. She is free.

There is a sob. Small. Weak. Mortal. At the base of the pillar, half-absorbed into the plant matter of Yggdrasil is Stylosa. Black roots creep up through her arms, chest, face. Her tears are tinged black, but the eyes are still hers. One arm reaches out. She whispers 'please help, it hurt̷̟͂s̶͕̓ ̵̻͂ĩ̸̺t̸͔͐ ̴͙̍ḧ̷̜́ù̸̘r̶̢̓t̶́͜s̸̫͒ ̸͑ͅî̶̺Ṱ̴̿ ̵̠̃H̷̙͊U̸̻̒R̶̯͛T̸͓͠S̸̢͌`-

The world goes static, right then wrong then right again, and the original Wonderland surrounds you. Silent - for a second. An explosion of color and canned applause comes from behind you. What was once a stage opens once more. There is the Henrik some of you were searching for, skin plaster, eyes matte black, a rigor mortis smile across his face. His voice booms out of speakers that aren't there.

"Welcome, one and all, as we embark on this, our first night! To the new and improved Night Show, with one hundred percent more audience participation!!! Guaranteed to keep you rooted to your seats, haha!" Confetti falls from nowhere, more false cheers from an invisible audience. He bows, stiff and chipped as a wind-up toy. It gives you a chance to angle your gaze to where there used to be an exit. It is there no longer. Doors appear and disappear in wrong places. Chandeliers swap between designs. The new Show is still trying to acclimate itself. "Now, I know some of you have had a bad time here before, but please romaine calm. We-"

And then Da Vinci's Body, appearing from nowhere, the same black eyes and battered smile, smacks him upside the head. A slapstick comedy in all the worst ways.

"That one doesn't work! We're in an ash tree!"

"No, we're in a cactus!"

"Ahahaha! Oh, Henrik, you know I'm a succa for your jokes!"

Both them and the invisible audience crack out into raucous laughter, doing matching poses like they're both on the cover of Vogue magazine. They whisper something to each other and 'Da Vinci' runs off stage to prepare. "Tonight, in celebration, we'll be holding our first ever... talent show!!! Our main acts are just boooring now. You know what I mean? Look at this mess-"

A hand waves out, and Minato unfolds up from the floor, harp welded into his hands, painted and decorated and held in place with pipes and wire. 'Da Vinci' waves her arms, unveiling the elaborate music box. His hands play against his will, plinking out the sad notes to a certain Velvet Room theme. He gets left alone in tired silence for a bit before a note goes off key. 'Da Vinci' yanks his face into the same smile, freezing it in place. TODAY IS A JOYOUS DAY, we are all so very HAPPY, and the eyes of 'Minato' go black.

The room is filled with cheers and rainbows, an excited irish jig played out by their wind-up stage musician. 'Henrik' doesn't wander the room, choosing instead to make sure the background music keeps going. The statues and paintings once lining the walls bend before your eyes - reforming into memories from your home, replays of your failures, but all done up in catchy pop-art style and played for hilarity. Rather than Marias, all newcomers are visited by a black-eyed ghoul wearing a human skin. They hand out drinks and paperwork, what would you like to participate with in our talent show? The winner not only gets a job but-

One wish from the Compact. Surely that's way more interesting than trying to get out, right?

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4. OOC

In order to keep to our goal of providing the most personalized Wonderland experience for all of you, we're setting a limit of 1 RNG attempt per character this log. Additionally, please be aware that while some mundane rolls will have standard-level DCs, many rolls, including those with the potential to uncover plot information, will be high-risk high-reward and will have a very high DC along with steep penalties for failure. As always, we will let you know of this before we roll, and you have the option to decline any roll at any time.

If you would like to gain a bonus of +2 on any given roll, those who have opted in to horror content may make the choice to sacrifice something of body, mind, or spirit. We will determine your sacrifice based on your horror homework. It is up to you whether this sacrifice is for the duration of the mission or a permanent sacrifice. As an additional reminder, there is no healing in Wonderland.

To a few of you, this will be even more detrimental than usual. To those of you who went too far with your debts or your choices, who have lost your very Selves to Wonderland. A list:

○ Michael
○ Kaede Akamatsu
○ Minato Arisato
○ Akira Kurusu
○ Guido Mista
○ Ryuji Sakamoto
○ Leonardo da Vinci
○ Willard H. Wright

Despite Lucretia's spell, the Light won't effect you guys. Over the course of part 2 you'll find you're slowly falling prey to what hit everyone else in wonderland. Your skin will turn pale, your veins will turn dark, you'll start vomiting viscous Abyss that occasionally comes to life, and eventually your eyes will turn black and you will Petrify. Should you as a player not want to play out the vomiting part, it can be exchanged with breathing out black mist. Whichever's cool with your school guys. The speed/intensity of this change and all of its symptoms is also up to you.

There are two exceptions. Da Vinci, while she is still a Roland, will simply start going rotten, seams growing old and fur collapsing away. Constant Mending will mitigate this, but she's on a timer to get her body back now. Willard will find that as the hardening of the glass continues, it will start to lose all color and begin to crack in places. These cracks will leak the same tar infecting the other players. Minato, despite being a Music Box right now, is still in his physical body and is not an exception.

On a more general note, we encourage you to make your own mini-horrorscapes in this setting! The entirety of Wonderland is available to dark-side, with the exception of what we've already laid out for Ghost & Wonder Squares. Improvise and make a mess. Just make sure to tag anything warning-worthy. Anything on the OOC post is fair game, and if there's something you'd like to try, please don't hesitate to let us know on the RNG thread. Should you have any questions, please direct them to the OOC post linked above.

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blurb code by photosynthesis

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the illusion crumbles

[ He's not quick enough to make it out before Wonderland is cut off from the rest of the world. Honestly, he doesn't really try. He's too busy helping everyone else, trying to save everyone he can before the vines take over and it's too late.

He sees you. He reaches out, offering a hand up, a steadying grip. Trying to get you to the exit before it closes. ]

Hurry, my dear, I'll be right along!

trapped in wonderland

[ Aziraphale is an angel, a being of pure light and faith and love. The creeping darkness of Wonderland is the last place someone like him belongs - and yet, perhaps he's one of those best suited for his horrors, practically glowing with his own light as he moves through twisting corridors, never faltering, never doubting that his next step will land true.

Gone is the lighthearted sense of exploration and joy as he'd spent too many WonderBux and indulged in romantic tram rides. He knows danger when he sees it, and his face is set in grim - and yet optimistic - determination. No matter what horror your character may encounter, Aziraphale is there to save them from it.

Even Ghost Square isn't so bad, at first. Aziraphale is a positive person, by nature and by (divine) design, and it takes a long while before he gets discouraged. It happens, though. He's not, after all, particularly good at being an angel. He gets tired - more so now than he ever had before - and hungry, and then he's lost and the stairs go on and on and there's something, someone just past the range of his hearing. He grumbles in frustration and unease and black mist drifts out from his lips. Hm. That's probably bad. ]

Who's there? Show yourself!

night show

[ Unfortunately, as you know, Aziraphale. Somehow he ends up at the Night Show. Somehow he's not quite able to find a path of escape. Somehow he's trapped by a ghoul with eyes that were never human, and he never was terribly good at turning down anyone soliciting for anything. They're just trying to make a living, after all, or collect a few signatures, the dears, out there facing rejection after rejection, for charity -

He frowns, doubtfully. ]

Well...I do know a bit of magic, as it happens...

wildcard

[ Got a different idea? Go for it, or ask for a prompt! ]

[ Six thousand years makes for a lot of memories. If the loop of Life's Greatest Hits seems to go on ages for the humans, for Aziraphale, it truly feels like...well...you know.

Most of it he doesn't remember, at least not consciously; it's simply too much to keep track of in even an angelic head, though the context is easy enough to remember as he gets glimpses of people and places he hasn't seen in literal centuries or more.

Well. For the most part.

There's just one thing he really can't explain. One person, rather, most often a man, with red hair and dark clothes and yellow, serpentine eyes. He pops up again and again, over a timespan impossible for any human to reach, and Aziraphale...knows him. Or so it seems, from the memories. But he can't remember him now, even when the scenes he appears in are crystal clear in his mind other than that fuzzy shape where this...counterpart? Companion?...apparently was.

He watches, feeling more and more lost and confused, and finally tries out the name that had once been so familiar on his lips. ]

Crowley?

[It's been a long couple of weeks, a long couple of weeks of watching Aziraphale through Mercury's eyes, of finding aimless and idle entertainment, of taking care of the angel from a distance because it hurt less than facing blank stares and being treated like a stranger.

But when everything starts to go pear-shaped, he can't risk not being there. If anything happened to Aziraphale, he would never forgive himself.

How he managed to make that vow to himself, and then immediately lose track of Aziraphale, was beyond him.

When he finds him in Event Square, he thinks it's his own memories at first. And as he walks in, some of the screens do shift to a different perspective, the same events from different angles.

Crowley's taken in watching them, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses, until he hears his name on Aziraphale's lips.]

Angel?

[He turns, his voice barely a breath, like if he says it too loud the spell will break and Aziraphale will forget him again. It's been two weeks since Aziraphale said his name at all, that just the sound of it almost makes him able to forget the unfamiliar tone.

When he turns to face Aziraphale, he's silhouetted against a backdrop, red and dark and seedy, the inside of a classic car and Crowley's hair cut in a fashionable-for-the-time bob, and the screen flips to Crowley's own perspective just in time to see the look on Aziraphale's face as he offers: Maybe one day we can go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz. And then another screen chimes in with Aziraphale's view of Crowley, holding a thermos that contained what could be his salvation or undoing, pleading: "I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you like."]

[ He hadn't really expected anyone to answer. He hadn't expected this Crowley to be in Faerun at all; why would he? Aziraphale certainly doesn't remember meeting him here, any more than he remembers the rest.

But when he turns, that's exactly who he finds looking back at him. He's torn, at first, between the sight of the man (angel? Nephilim?) himself and the scene playing out behind him. His own expression is so wistful, as he speaks of picnics and the Ritz, and the other...

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

Aziraphale's own heart nearly breaks, hearing it, even without understanding what it means. He looks back at Crowley, but this time, it's not a look of blank confusion. ]

Who are you? [ He steps forward, closer, almost without realizing it. ] Why don't I know you?

[ Not accusatory, this time, but wondering. Pleading. ]

[Crowley knows his time is borrowed here. He knows that it's only a matter of minutes until Aziraphale forgets this conversation, and the merciful thing would be to get him out of here, so that this doesn't happen again.

They need to find the relic. They need to find the relic, and then everything will go back to normal. That's what Michael had said, and Crowley has to hold onto that hope because otherwise he'll fall apart. He can't fall apart now, this place is like Hell - if he gives up, it'll seep into every little crack in him and tear him apart.

Crowley starts to take a step toward Aziraphale when the angel edges closer but hesitates.]

It's this place, Aziraphale. It's done something to you, got inside you somehow, it's- It's not your fault.

[Who he is is a harder question. His name might slide right off like water off a duck, but... Maybe something else will stick. He's overheard Aziraphale, through Mercury, asking her questions about his secret admirer, who he was able to remember even though the note came from Crowley.]

I'm your- [His voice breaks inelegantly and he has to start again.] I'm your Antonio.

[ Aziraphale, of course, has no real way of knowing that they've done this before, that five minutes from now he'll look at Crowley's face and not know it. But his mind is racing anyway, as if desperate to outrun an invisible ticking clock. After all, if he were capable of retaining this, wouldn't Crowley have come to him and explained before? Wouldn't he have tried, even if Aziraphale had refused to listen?

His heart aches, as he looks at the pained expression on Crowley's face, as the enormity of it all settles over him. His entire lifetime had been rewritten, and he'd had no idea. And Crowley -

Crowley speaks, explains the only way he can, and Aziraphale's breath catches in his throat. There had been only the one note, but the little surprises hadn't stopped. Meals paid for him in advance, complete with personalized wine recommendations. Books in plain brown packaging, awaiting him on his doorstep. Mercury there the moment he needed her; he'd never quite been able to shake the feeling that she was connected in some way to his secret admirer. He'd all but given up on ever discovering the mysterious Antonio's identity. But now this. This. It's simultaneously the most romantic and the worst thing that's ever happened to him. It's like something out of a book, too perfect and heartbreaking to possibly be true. ]

My Antonio.

[ And there it is, all the warmth and affection, all the love that's been missing when he says Crowley's voice. He moves closer still, heedless of Crowley's hesitation, and brings his hands up to hover half an inch from his face, trembling, not quite daring to touch. ]

I forgot you. I forgot you completely, and you - you found a way to look after me anyway.

[ His eyes are suddenly bright with tears, fixed unerringly on Crowley's face. ]

Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry.

[Aziraphale has said Crowley's name a thousand different ways, over six thousand years. He's said it with fondness, frustration, exasperation, with joy and relief and surprise.

His eyes aren't visible, but his eyebrows are soft, sad, and his lips part in a soft gasp when Aziraphale breathes his name like that with all the warmth and affection he usually has and then so much more.

It's the much more that does it, that makes his lower lip wobble just slightly before his lips purse together and he leans his cheek into the soft touch of Aziraphale's manicured hand.

You'll forget me again, he thinks, he knows, because it's happened again and again and again. And like a moth, Crowley keeps coming back.]

'S not your fault. Aziraphale- [His voice cracks, strained, and shatters.

Will Aziraphale remember this, here, when he remembers everything else? Will it be washed away in the flood of returning memories, or will it be polished smooth and shining, this moment here that burns like a bath of lemon juice on all the little cuts that Aziraphale's forgetting has left on Crowley's heart?

He cups the hand on his cheek and presses it there, as if the cut of his cheekbone could leave an impression on soft skin the way he can't right now on the smooth glass of Aziraphale's memory. His voice is barely a whisper, and thankfully the screens around them cast an unsteady enough light that Aziraphale can only feel, not see, the tears that slide down to wet his fingers and palm.]

Somebody's got to look after you. Can't imagine the trouble you'd begin to get into otherwise.

[One of the screens next to them shows Aziraphale's memory - the orange glow of a burning night in London, and Aziraphale's distress over books presumed lost.

Crowley's hand reaching out with a leather satchel.

Just a little demonic miracle of my own.]

Aziraphale | OTA

For Crowley

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Ghost Square

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demon aziraphale (ota)

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