Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 2

[balancemod]

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. Back to top 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. Back to top 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? Back to top 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. Back to top blurb code by photosynthesis

Comments

eleanor shellstrop | ota

[coolranchbaby]

a. welcome! everything is fine. [revival//locked to whoever stuck around at the pharmacy, after her group carried her there]

[Two days ago, Eleanor Shellstrop made a very important choice. Said choice saved ten innocent elves and her five group mates along with earning her a brief bit of face time with the manager of Wonderland himself- right before her trolley problem came to it's unfortunate conclusion.

Eleanor doesn't know how long she's just heard the constant roots and that voice she doesn't know. It could be a few hours or three months or 300 years in the dot of the i in Jeremy Bearimy and she wouldn't have known the difference. What she does know, as consciousness trickles back to her and the sudden flood of pain hits, is that she needs to know if she did it. Are the others okay? Did they really vanish from her sight right before the monster plowed into her or did Mia just let go of her hand at the worst possible moment?

Where her friends laid out her body, Eleanor jerks very suddenly back into the land of the living with a sharp, hissing curse of pain and not quite daring to open her eyes yet.]

Son of a-

[Okay. She can deal with this. Just eat as many painkillers as she medically can, maybe invest in some fantasy essential oils. Absolutely foolproof plan.

She waits another few seconds, waiting to see of the pain will pass and when it doesn't she cautiously opens her now solid black eyes. Definitely not the nightmare cave, so that's a good sign. She glances around the room, the details of her surroundings slowly clicking into place until her gaze falls on someone else in the room. She stares for a moment, grimacing at another stab of pain before flashing an exhausted but somehow still smug grin.]

So. What'd I miss?

b. shadowdale [open]

[As much as going back to Wonderland seems like a thing that should be done, Eleanor is good out here. Sure, she'll go back if she needs to but between her pain and fatigue, her want to keep an eye on Michael and her other friends, and making sure the elves are as good as can be expected she has her hands full in Shadowdale and that's fine by her for the moment.

Despite not being able to move as well or as quickly as she'd like (much to her frustration), Eleanor can be found almost anywhere in Shadowdale. She'll help with most tasks with adequate speed and only a moderate amount of complaining. Every once in a while you may catch her aggressively stomping on a very small black ooze monster. That's probably fine and normal.

A good amount of the rest of her time is spent back at the pharmacy or the makeshift infirmary, probably resting up from her everpresent fatigue or checking in on her fellow Reclaimers.]

c. wildcard!!

[hit me up on discord (SlothBless#5857) or on plurk (slothbless) if you have something else in mind!!]

[doubledsofjustice]

[Mia had certainly not let go of Eleanor's hand by choice.

Really, as Ghost, she'd only gone along because Eleanor had already burned herself into the case files in Mia's mind as an impressive and interesting person. Though Ghost could barely understand how she was a part of it, she had memories of Eleanor rallying those elves as if she was from behind a veil, watching Michael and Eleanor and the elves speak without her centerpoint even being acknowledged. It had been simple to accept assisting Eleanor on her quest- Ghost had a reason to protect Eleanor, and Ghost would follow their duty. The decision to hold Eleanor's hand as they faced their fate had been a simple one; if she could not save Eleanor, then she'd die supporting her, by her side.

But she hadn't. Eleanor'd gotten her way, her foolish, selfless way-- and had died without her *and* without a few of her elves. It'd been a conflicting feeling, even if at first Mia's only priority had been returning to Lion. But Ghost had two days to ponder, and to help with the mending and tending, and to process.]

Two days, is what.

[Ghost answers, striding over to Eleanor's side to look her over, brows knitting at the sight of Eleanor's eyes as she pushes some of Eleanor's hair out of her face.]

Ah...

[That's no good.]

since this takes place after the Michael thread- /dabs

[coolranchbaby]

[It's a small weight off Eleanor's shoulders knowing that (Mia?) (Ghost?) that this particular teammate is okay. Michael she knows is as okay as he's going to be, the elves are in one piece and Crowley, Aziraphale and Battler she hasn't heard from yet but no news is good news sometimes. She'll have to catch up to them later.]

Shit. I guess becoming the end result of the trolley problem can really take a lot out of a lady. [She tilts her head into Ghost's hand just slightly but stops with a grimace as pain radiates across her skin.] Sst- how bad is it? Oh, you got a crap haircut but it'll look better next week bad or Jeff Goldblum in the second half of The Fly bad?

[doubledsofjustice]

[Ghost really hadn't been counting on making it out of that, either. She'd held Eleanor's hand tight, unable to do much more than that- and then Eleanor had traded her life for theirs and upset Adrian. She might not be Mia for now, but if they can make if out of here and she's back to normal (it has to happen, it will be fixed, they'll have her back-) then Mia will remember this.

She'll list the bravery and leadership of Eleanor Shellstrop in the case files in her mind, close to those of Lana Skye, in the drawer of people she admires.

Ghost pulls her hand away when Eleanor grimaces, relaxing when she's sure she didn't touch anything tender. She raises a brow just slightly, a smile tugging on one side of her mouth (but doesn't it almost look exasperated?)]

Let's go with "one box dye away from a great Sadako costume".

[Everyone she knows is Like This.]

[feytality]

[ maya is here too, but as a wolf (with a glass leg, it's fine), because she's found that's generally more effective for moral support. the sexy 90s boyband earring (that looks like a bracer if eleanor really squints might give her away.) it is pretty beaten up, but also: extremely fluffy ]

[ the wolf approacheth and flops down on the ground in front of eleanor, clearly appreciative of her terrible jokes. animal therapy y/n? ]

[coolranchbaby]

[hot diggity shit, that's a fluffy doggo. She's absolutely going to reach out and give her a good ear scratch.]

Oof. From Naomi Watts to the waterlogged chick crawling out of the TV. Who knew getting hit by a train could cause such a downgrade?

[Is she deflecting with humor or genuinely feeling jokey despite the grim circumstances? The world may never know.]

So...you're okay?

[doubledsofjustice]

[Ghost casts her smile Maya's way for a moment. She doesn't recall her part in watching it, but knows Maya practiced this particular trick quite a bit. At least Eleanor's from a similar level of comedy not alone in her need to keep it light; she's right at home with the Feys. Even as no one, Ghost doesn't seem too bothered by Eleanor not taking it "seriously."]

Yeah, I... you pretty much saved our lives. Mitchell and Batter and... A-az...riel?

[whew ok you know what? she's not focused on it. She's also not really okay, but absolutely not focusing on that, either.]

So, thank you, actually. That was kind of incredible.

[feytality]

[ the wolf approves!!! it's just gonna stick with eleanor for this conversation, especially since it's turning heartfelt and soft. the wolf puts its head against eleanor's leg as if to affirm her heroism. ]

[ doggo agrees w ghostia!!! ]

[coolranchbaby]

[This perfect canine is getting extra good neck ribs for that validation. Eleanor might not have a great track record with dogs but this is just a Very Good Dog?? And it's not like she can severely overfeed it at this moment.]

Hey, you guys were doing me a favor in letting yourselves get dragged along on Elf Quest. I wasn't about to let that dick Adrian get at any of you.

[doubledsofjustice]

[this dog is perhaps the best dog. Even Ghost is calmer having her around- and by now at least she isn't afraid to let her mental condition secret slip in front of said dog.]

I'm not the type to leave things unfinished.

[Ghost has decided this about herself. She's gonna stick to it. She remembers Eleanor's first time with the elves, anyway, even if she's not sure how she herself played into it.]

And... I'm glad to see you aren't finished, either.

[top it off with some more death humor.]

A/C wombo combo

[alethiological]

Panicking kids, mostly.

[ jesus christ where the fuck did that voice come from

Eleanor can take a moment to glance around in a panic. The room is well-kept - a line of BIAS bags behind her, bandages and towels lined up on shelves, a massive pile of pillows and blankets for her future ascension to the comfort throne. She deserves it, considering she probably feels like she got hit by a train.

Get it?

The 'someone else' she stares at is actually a 'glass' statue propped up like her on another side of the room. Maybe glass. Glass isn't supposed to be ink-filled and ashen like that. Or loosely dressed to maintain an illusion the statue is a person. Or able to move, that's the main one. The statue raises a metal arm, unmoving otherwise, and points at one of the many BIAS bags near her resting place, speaking in a voice just loud enough to not be a whisper, but not a beat higher. ]

Good morning. Front pocket's painkillers. Insides'a Jack Daniels.

[ Surely someone, somewhere, will have a meltdown after hearing his recommendation. This someone can go be a fun sponge on their own dime. ]

[coolranchbaby]

[That's.

Hm.

She has Several Questions but those can wait until her entire body stops screaming in protest with every move she makes. Her gaze follows the metal arm to the nearest BIAS bag and she, as quickly as she can manage in her state, reaches in to the main pocket for that delicious burn-y juice.]

Those are the sweetest words I've heard since we left the moon. [Fun Sponge can take a seat, she got run over my a monster train and she is taking a nice long drink. Maybe it'll clear out the gunk that feels like it's made a cozy home in her chest.]

So...you doing okay? [She has no idea what the circumstances are here but she feels like "person made of inky-glass" isn't a default state.] Need some Windex maybe?

A

[eudaimonikos]

[Michael's done with this mission.

He was done the second Eleanor's bloody, mutilated corpse dropped down into his lap. To be honest, he barely remembers any specifics. It's all just a horrifying blur. He knows he screamed and cried; he threw up, actual food instead of shadow monsters, and had to scramble away to hide his face. For several terrifying minutes, he felt like he couldn't breathe.

In other words, he acted just like a human. Even after recovering some composure, his attempt to carry Eleanor back himself only ended with him doubled over and retching into the dirt. It would have been embarrassing, were there any room left in his heart for shame. Instead, he just took one of her elf friends, curled up in the pharmacy with all of the bodies, and stayed there.

It seems so silly - he's a demon! He's literally run many people over with trolleys before! Of course it would feel different, seeing it happen to Eleanor, but the mechanics should've all been familiar. Thinking back on the other times now, though, and even before that...it just turns his stomach. Was the mere fact of seeing what he'd done always this bad for all the humans, and he just couldn't see it himself? Is he better this way? Or is he just less useful? He couldn't torture anybody now, but he doubts he could bring himself to bind up a wound either.

And that's what he wants. He doesn't want to torture anybody. He doesn't torture now. Except...

As time has passed, vague memories have started to resolve themselves in his head. They seemed like nothing more than bad dreams at first; Michael's never really dreamed before, but between his illness and how raw he still feels, he's spent a lot of the past few days in and out of consciousness, dozing fitfully on the pharmacy floor. So it would make sense, wouldn't it, for his ailing meat brain to spit out a dozen little fragmented nightmares?

But dreams are supposed to fade with time. These ones don't. They only rearrange themselves into something more like coherence. He thinks...maybe he did something bad. Maybe several bad things.

As nausea starts to curl in his stomach, he can't help but wonder if they all made some awful mistake, bringing him along in the first place. It takes so little to make him a monster - nothing more than a few years, a few memories here and there. And even if he were himself, he wouldn't have thought the damage done was all that bad, before he rolled those dice. He's just...lacking some bits of humanity, and maybe he's never really going to know how much.

All in all, Eleanor wakes up at a good time.]

Eleanor! [He rushes to close the small gap between them, clutching for her nearest hand. Her eyes are black. Even his aren't that bad yet, he thinks. His own ashy skin and black veins are on full display still - maybe he should have covered them, but too late now.] You're awake! I was so worried about you!

emeto warning

[coolranchbaby]

Mich- [She can't even get out his name before the couching starts. A hoarse, wet hacking from deep in her chest that feels worse than any chest cold or flu she's ever had, one that makes her scrunch her eyes shut and nearly double over. She grips his hand with both of hers and turns her head so when she finally does vomit up a disgusting glob of black goo it's on the floor and not on him.]

Blugh. That's probably not good. [She inhales a slow and shaky breath before she can refocus and reopen her eyes.] Michael- holy shit, what happened to you?

[eudaimonikos]

[Michael covers her hands with his free one, and waits until she's done. He's hacked up enough of those things lately to know how that goes; she's not gonna be able to talk until it's over. It's gotta hurt her, too. He'll get her some water, just as soon as he's ready to let go of her.]

Oh, don't worry about me. I haven't my body destroyed lately! Do you feel okay - other than the...?

[gestures vaguely to All Of Her]

[coolranchbaby]

I mean, everything hurts and I died. But otherwise I still feel like, y'know, me. [The Yggdrasil thing she somehow??? Understands now??? can wait because she has bigger fish to worry about.]

Seriously, you look like hell and that's not a compliment based on you being a demon. What happened while I was out?

[eudaimonikos]

Oh...

[Decision time: does he keep up the lie about not having been sick this entire time, or does he act like he just went really downhill over the past two days?]

...just picked up a touch of whatever the elves have, I think. [But the touch of guilt that follows compels him to add:] And, uh, I might've done something with those dice.

[coolranchbaby]

[she just rolled a 19 on that insight check and, just like in almost every reboot, knows he is full of crap. But still that's forgivable- she knows him. With everything else going down, he probably didn't want her worrying about him. And then he makes the mistake of mentioning the dice.]

You used the dice? You mean the clearly cursed dice we got after everything imploded that probably eat your soul or something? Those di- [She has to stop again when the coughing starts again at full force. Specks of inky black splatter and stain her sleeve when she turns her head to cough and wheeze against her arm. Give her just a second, Michael, apparently she can add frustrated concern to her list of cough triggers, right next to being conscious.]

tw: emeto

[eudaimonikos]

Yes! I -

[Michael reaches out to pat Eleanor on the back, guiltily grateful for the distraction of her coughing fit. He was about to say something really emotional, wasn't he? His stomach still aches; just thinking about it makes cold sap rise in his own throat. He coughs to clear it, and forges on in a calmer tone:]

I heard you scream and I was stuck. That was the only thing I could do.

[coolranchbaby]

You didn- [You didn't have to! is what she wants to say, even if she's not sure how true it is. She doesn't want to think about what would have happened if her gambit had failed, if Adrian had decided just derail the train entirely with the others on top or if he'd just murdered the elves outright and then the rest of them- oh shit.]

Elves! Are the elves okay? Did anyone else get steamrolled?

infirmary

[eastofeden]

[ He may be a demon, but Fell still has manners. Common decency. In the same way that nosy housewives with too much time on their hands have the common decency to bring a casserole to poor Margo whose husband just got caught cheating on her, dropping by more to get a good look and hopefully the latest gossip than out of a true sense of concern or sympathy, but...

Well. He's here, anyway. Poking his head round the doorframe, and then strolling in, hands behind his back. She had sacrificed herself. Even he can appreciate that. ]

Feeling better, I hope?

[coolranchbaby]

All things considered. [She's sure looked better, that's for sure. The ghostly white skin, black veins and all black eyes aren't exactly doing her any favors but she seems like her spirits are high even if she looks like death several times over on her comfy throne of pillows and blankets.]

Good to see you apparently made it out of gross monster cave without a scratch, AZ. [And that's, for the record, not sarcasm.]

[eastofeden]

[ Yeah, about that. While normally Aziraphale would be all over anyone lying in a hospital bed who might conceivably, in any universe, might by any stretch of the imagination be called a friend, that's not the case here. He's not fussing over Eleanor or grabbing her hand, he's not bubbling over with worries and apologies and wishes for her wellbeing.

Instead, he's noticeably keeping his distance. He nods, eyeing Eleanor's (let's be real) horrible appearance with faint distaste. ]

Yes, I was lucky. [ His gaze flicks up to hers, not at all put off, at least, by her all-black eyes. ] A pity we couldn't all say the same.

A!

[epistemologies]

[It isn't the first time Battler's seen a resurrection. Honestly, it's not even the tenth or the fiftieth. He's lost track of how many times it's happened, really. In that catbox, death was just left of meaningless. He's seen it make witches cruel, the Endless Magic that can tear anything apart and put it back the way it was. When life and death are at someone's fingertips, it's easy for them to forget that any such thing matters. As long as your concept remains intact, as long as your existence isn't Denied, you can always come back.

But this is different. It's not instantaneous, the way he's used to. And she doesn't come back quite right, either. Instead of reminding the vase its form before it shattered, it's more duct-taping the pieces together and then painting over the tape to hide that it's there. He's worried about it, a bit, but he's already had his meltdown about not being able to help when he found out Will was glass. He just smiles weakly and offers her some water.]

Not much. We're still trucking along.

a/c kindaaaa...?? what is prompts, honestly

[dialetheism]

[ It's been a little while since Eleanor woke up, now. Long enough for her concerned well-wishers to get it out of their system, or visitors to come and go. It felt rude to intrude on... all of that, especially with how dire the situation was- so they waited. Simple as that.

But when things are finally quiet, she's approached by a golden-haired brat bearing a mug of tea and some of the more edible supplies they'd scrounged up. ]

Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling now?

[ The answer is probably going to be some variation of "terrible", but there's a pattern to these things. ]