Scene #8674: PNL(S): All the Time in the World-3

Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	It feels like the longer Lampport languishes, the worse it gets. It might even be true. There's no way this can possibly be good for it. Even though nothing changes. Even though no one comes to harm. No one ages. Nothing erodes. The wind doesn't move and the sun isn't warm. Everything is poised in perfect equilibrium. Nothing can happen. It wouldn't notice if you were gone. Even then. Even though nothing can ever be amiss again. It still feels just like . . . Rotting You're not really sure why that is. The air as as clear-ish as it's been. Dust hasn't so much as gathered on the road. No one has sweat a drop in a twenty mile radius in months. The light outdoors probably isn't even real. But it inarguably feels worse than ever before. Breathe it in. That lukewarm miasma. It's invisible, but you can taste it, can't you? The lack of air. Nothing you can name, or point to. Nothing you can define. They don't even believe you that it's there. But you know it is. Congealing in air around you, thickening bit by bit, until one day, not far from now, you'll asphyxiate and die. Don't pretend like it isn't getting worse. There's no point The longer you take, the more of what's left of you will wither up, from need of breath. Even if you can't see it, even if you can't say why, even if no one else is even aware, you know it isn't much longer before this all ends, one way or another. So make certain it's on your own terms There's nothing to say about a town that can't change. A Tyrant dead, a mystery box on the run, efforts to chase it down, and Petra mysteriously returning two §flower buds§ richer; what else? What does it matter? That pigeon was hovering overhead in that exact same spot yesterday; and the day before that, and the day before that, and-- "Padgett. Newman. One of you." says Lilian, snapping her fingers by force of habit. "That rid-- The 'Reversal Game', if you will." The middle of a nondescript street, near to the East Corning Lifestyle Center, isn't exactly an auspicious place to begin. It's so utterly, banally bland, that it takes slightly too long for it to sink in that this is where Lilian had been when the group met; and that she'd memorized this mind-numbing spot exactly, before there was even a reason to. "That's the only means we currently have of accessing this godforsaken city's subsurface causative layers, isn't it?" It doesn't go amiss to notice that Lilian is visibly armed this time. The first time she'd come here, it'd been in her street clothes and heels, with a stack of books and rehearsed lines. "You were 'warned' last time, weren't you? And she promised only once. Even though we had instructions, I've been getting the feeling we may be forced to make do with what little we have." She pauses for breath, but only really to curl her fingers absently into her hair. "Likely not enough for all of you, actually. If any of you would prefer to be struck with a sudden fit of sanity and stay behind, this is the perfect time."
Stanley Padgett	It sure does feel like it's rotting, doesn't it? Stanley would agree with the Narrator if he could her them. A Blue Bus is idling gently near the edge of the plaza, and that's where Stanley looks up as the finger snaps happen. A slight frown, but... she can't help herself, can she? This is agitating for her too, after all. "No worries, I've got it-" But as he pulls out his phone, someone else slips out from the bus. A blonde lady in a blue dress, and a thick braid down to her back. She adjusts her hat and then pulls out a roll of tickets. Everyone gets one. "Hello, I'm Delilah, and I drive the Velvet Room. If any of you require rescue from the Shadow World, and you are unable to get to Stanley or Charlotte, this is a one way ticket back to This Side." Though, anyone who remembers the fight and search of NovaTech will recognize this woman. She's the Actual Person version of the little chibi mascot that is plastered all over The Reversal's game branding. Stanley, flicks open his phone, and then opens up a gate to the Shadow World. It stays open this time.
Friz	Friz knows some essential things. She knows that something can rot while it's preserved. She's seen, once even operated, an embalming pump. The lack and abundance of breath that you feel around those with none of their own any longer. Friz stayed behind to stay out of the tyrant fight, unable to really do much in such a pitched battle. Will she be able to do much here? Less clear. But this time it's more investigation, less fight. They're going into the reversal, aren't they? Well, maybe there's more nature and soil there. But that's a long shot. Friz nods once to Lilian, but looks to one side, at nothing at all. She attends to that nothing-at-all spot for a moment before she looks back. "Sorry, uh-- I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay back here. There's something about this... I think I need to go. But I couldn't say why." The ghost that haunts her would be the one who could explain, if he could. But he can't either. When the gate opens, the first one in is... nearly impossible to notice, a flickering shadow of a humanoid and a trace of the smell of cigarette smoke. The detective follows almost immediately after: "Wait for me!" She says, to apparently nobody in particular, briefly forgetting to hide her secret.
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte can't shake just why something feels even more Incredibly Wrong than the previous times she'd been in Frozen Lampport. Like something terrible has happened. Which should be impossible, she reasons, everyone is stuck in place. She lifts her eyes to the skyline in thought, considering the stillness again, and what that means. The girl jolts when Lilian's fingers snap and her name is called out. Quickly she glances down at her purse, retrieving her phone. Despite the servers being destroyed, the game launches without a hitch; considering it's the way through which she interacts with the city's collective subconscious, there's clearly more to it than just the game. She pauses, there. Stanley beats her to it. Inhaling briefly, Charlotte lets out a little noise and puts her phone away. In the same motion, he tentatively unclips her bat from the purse strap. Delilah's arrival, for some reason, causes the blonde to bristle. What is she doing here? Every bit of her is uncomfortable in this person's presence, including parts that aren't even sure why she feels that way. After a moment, the tension relents in a quiet sigh. What am I even doing here? Her eyes shift to the portal, I didn't do anything right, even when I really tried. I could only be a liability. The bat clips back onto the strap. Charlotte doesn't move, seemingly lost in thought.
Angela	Justin Rook hasn't been sent out again since Angela has decided that listening to Stanley Padgett's advice on how to run her Agents has only resulted in extra problems. No, she decided, better to just do things her own way. And so Angela has sent the two Agents she originally had sent this time. Naturally, both Mikey and Baba ARE armed though Baba, as usual, is sleeping on their feet. "Oh shit...!" Mikey says. "Is staying behind an option?" "Zzzzzzz...." Baba snores, dreaming beautiful dreams. Mikey prods them periodically but Baba continues to nap. "No," Angela tells her employees. "You are going anyway. I have little idea of what Exigent was saying but if you didn't do what you were supposed to, that was on you." Angela doesn't need some kind of empathic pulse hitting her to feel like this situation has gone stagnant, and to feel like it's rotting the longer they fail to solve this situation. Frankly, she regrets letting her empathy for the situation pull her in. Relying on it has always been a mistake. Become the calculator. "Guess we have to go anyway." Mikey says. "I'd say it's been fun but it's actually been pretty disquieting!" "Psshhuuu..." Baba adds. "Ready Commander." Angela says to Lilian then nods to Stanley and Charlotte. "Children."
Tamamo	Tamamo has never been seen in armor, but she always has just the outfit at hand. Her 'usual' is suited to usual needs, the garb of a miko being that of one who dispenses blessings suitable for combat and otherwise. She sincerely doesn't think it needs to be said that she'll continue on, which is why she doesn't actually say it. Instead, she's accepting the ticket from the new (to her) person with both hands. "Oh, thank you. Ms. Delilah, is it? I am known as Tamamo-no-mae." It's tucked into her sleeve for now, though she'll give it a closer look, later. Under the circumstances, she doesn't expect anything to be strange about it, but it doesn't hurt to check. It would simply be rude to do a magical analysis on a gift the moment it's given. "I am rather interested in what we will discover, though I suppose it should be assumed to be dangerous. You will stay close to me, will you not, Lilian?"
Kukuru	The way Lampport is now, Kukuru should be really happy. Nobody's getting hurt. Nothing bad is happening. Everything's clean, and nobody is uncomfortable. It's almost perfect, and yet it all feels wrong. So, so terribly wrong. Wrong enough that just standing there gives her an indescribable urge to just start tearing things apart, to shake the earth with her fists, to force something, anything to change in this stagnant town. She doesn't even know why she's feeling this way. She knows she shouldn't want to, but it felt so cathartic last time, and she was praised for it. It's hard to ignore that temptation, but giving in again would just be... It would hurt her friends here. That's what she needs to focus on. Lilian's here in actual combat gear with a Tamamo at her side, Stanley and Charlotte are ready to fight for their own home, Angela's sent her own Agents to join in the strange battle, and that mysterious detective is even heading in of her own volition. What right does Kukuru have to wreck that for anyone? No, she'll have something to take out her frustrations on later. Breathing out a heavy sigh, she tightens her gloves, checks her pockets to make sure there's enough hydration in there, and she reaches back briefly to bunch her hair up into a tight bun to keep it from flopping arund all over the place. "I've gooot... Snacks and drinks, if anyone wants to freshen up before we get started. Once we do, though.. Hmm." The usual? The usual. "I'll make sure nobody needs rescuing through the bus. I can pick you right back up, so don't be afraid even if you get realy hurt. I'll fix it aaall up, so.. Be brave." She buttons up her jacket, then gets her claws out with a brief click and scrape of the tips against each other. She hasn't even yawned once this whole time. "I'm ready, too."
Petra Soroka	Petra was at Lampport just last night, so in more ways than the obvious, it's like no time has passed. She's armed, equipped with her grey EGO trench coat and suit with the gently pulsing blue heart on her chest, Pillar of Creation on her back, and the black-gold collar around her neck-- which isn't explicitly a defense against Exigent Serenity's dungeon in the Reversal, but it's a jingling little reminder that she's a lot more comfortable here than most of the others. As are the two-- two?-- flower buds in her hands. As subtly as she can manage, which isn't very much, she tries to compare the number to everyone else's, as little tokens of Exigent Serenity's approval. Almost everyone has zero or one, which is good! And... Petra should expect to rank behind Tamamo on this, and it's not really that she feels jealous that Tamamo has more... but the cap is only three! Petra feels like she totally should've worked harder to reach the max, but Tamamo barely had to do anything at all! It's too bad that third boy vanished. I could've torched his house too and gotten another one. Wait, didn't he, like, sneak into hotels to sleep for free? What a creep. "Even though we had instructions, I've been getting the feeling we may be forced to make do with what little we have." Petra holds up the buds, one in each hand, demonstrating how well she followed instructions. Unnecessarily, she adds, "I have two." She can't help glancing at Stanley and Charlotte, smugly dismissive with just a tint of shifty anxiety, when walking up to the portal. She doesn't linger on them long, though. They'll totally know it was me once they're there. But that's good, that's part of it. "Hey again, Delilah." Technically, Petra has seen Delilah once before she did last night, though she herself doesn't remember it. The time that Stanley pulled Angela into the Velvet Room and Petra burst in to rescue her, Delilah had been there, which would potentially be a rationale for why Petra is already familiar with her. It's not, but it could be. "Guess we have to go anyway." "Make sure you don't die. It'll bother Lilian."
Stanley Padgett	The blonde Attendant smiles cheerily at Tamamo, and then produces a trio of glazed fried tofu skewers from... somewhere. "It is lovely to meet you in person, and not... well." A smile. "Not the idea of you." She waves a hand and then hands over the snacks, before waving to Petra and Lilian, and slipping into the background, while keeping an eye on Charlotte and Stanley.
Tamamo	"Oh? Why, thank you." Tamamo accepts mysteriously materialized foreign street food from a bus driver. She covers her mouth with her long sleeve to try a bite. She hasn't gone through the portal yet, but that's because Lilian hasn't. If Lilian insists on bringing up the rear, Tamamo will be just in front of her. Tofu isn't enough to put aside the wrongness in the air, but she's chosen not to outwardly acknowledge it, just as she's chosen the appearance of failing to notice Petra's flower bud acquisition.
Angela	Angela stares at the Attendant like she remembers the last time she entered her car. She does not smile. "If you die I will have to write up a citation in your record." Angela adds.
Touta Konoe	Another day, another trip to Lamport, another moment in a city that feels untouched by time, but seen by cruel gazes. It is a world that should be unfazed, eternal as it lingers in this state and yet... There's an instinctive sense of decay that builds in the air. As though just staying within it makes one feel an obstruction to breathe. Even for someone who has no need to breathe like Touta, that odd sensation is noted. If only more so highlighted by the abnormality that attempts to steal life from that which shouldn't be able to. Just like this atmosphere Touta himself feels that same level of constant. As he looks to Petra to see not just one but two more flowers, to Lilian, resolved to battle as she appears properly armed. In contrast Touta has received no flowers. In the eyes of the one here, he's done nothing to visibly demonstrate performing acts on his own terms, for his own desires...And yet...Since the last time he's here, there seems to be somewhat of a more determined gaze in his eyes. Even knowing that with no flowers that what is to come is likely to be hell. Even for someone like him. No...Especially for someone like him. A world, a place, where physical pain will likely be on the backburner to what was to come and yet... "Even if I kept stumbling backwards in some of this...Still made it this far somehow without playing into all this. Whether we'd call that a good thing or not isn't important to me at this point... Just feels like I'd go insane just to leave things here without seeing it through to the end. So whatever comes next...Let's see what they're throwing at us." His tone, his words, they all feel like just things that go with the flow in this place. Lingering in rot, though...If there is one change since the last time. It is those eyes. Looking forward into the void to come, it seems like they have a certain life to them. More life than they ever have since Touta's lingered in this place since the time before, and the time before that...
Lilian Rook	Things aren't so great that Lilian would fail to catch Stanley's frown. Looking at him a little too long, the corner of her lip twitches, and then she maintains frigid expression-neutral stance. "Wandering around pointlessly and waiting for someone else to figure it out won't get us anywhere. This is the point at which everyone will have to be perfectly clear about what they're doing, when, where, and what they expect." she says, only letting her hand drop when he mercifully breaks out his phone app. "I think you've all had enough of reading my mind; I'm not about to encourage you to start looking for any more reasons." she whispers just slightly too loudly. Friz talking to empty space catches her in the state of mind of thinkin it's for her, if just for a moment. "Is that your detective's intuition speaking, 'Friz'?" she asks, turning towards her mid-sentence, and then stopping when Friz isn't even looking at her. A split second later, Lilian silently wonders why she'd emphasized Friz's name that way, and shows nothing for it but an oddly timed blink. She distracts herself by letting her gaze wander to Baba, and replying to Angela "Are you now?" with a hint of disbelief. In the midst of her saying "Of course. Would you expect any different?" to Tamamo, it's just Kukuru who hears the silent whisper, §I knew you'd get it. Even if no one takes you seriously, you still know how to fight for it, deep, deep down. Even if you have to destroy things to make them notice, those are still vital signs. You're not dead yet.§ Delilah surprises Lilian, but not that much. She's only met her once, but Stanley talks about her plenty. "I suppose this is, actually, your home field." she says, nearly offhandedly, but not quite. "Even more than it is Padgett or Newman's, in a sense. However bad it is here, it must be worse there." A smile attempts to show on her, only to be quickly stifled after a moment, due to Petra. "Indeed it would be rather unpleasant. So in that sense, I appreciate your offer to ferry out whichever future imbecile needs it." 'I have two' makes Lilian drop her hand on top of Petra's head, and fumble where some sort of familiar ruffle-pat would go. She ends up . . fondly? Pulling her hair a little, to scoot her out of the way, and moves past without asking where and when she got them; itself a kind of implicit message. The §portal/breach/burrowing root§ opens, and the §rot/death/choking smoke/airless void of space§ pours out from its true source. The Neon lights of the Reversal-- Lampport's exaggerated double, all tall dark buildings and dramatically foggy streets, pierced with striking pools of hot-buzzing light and blind corners into dream-shrouded nowhere-- are perfectly bleached pale by ashen haze in the air. Like thick snowfall, motes of sooty blackness constantly drift from the opaque sky above, and pile up in drifts of charred grit in the storm drains and the gaps in the sidewalk. The street corners are nearly invisible in the amplified darkness. The road and the sidewalk are nearly impossible to distinguish from one another. Everything smells like charcoal and smelting coke; the air tastes like cold seawater and stale blood. No, the taste of blood is actually real. You can feel it seeping out of your nose, down your throat, pooling into your mouth and under your tongue. It feels like drowning in slow motion. The soot is metal and the sharp edges tear in so many invisible, imperceptible cuts, that you almost can't tell where the bleeding comes from. Unless you have a flower bud. Then, the only symptom is the way a singular petal begins to grey and blacken over time. Or if you're Lilian, who-- Suddenly isn't here.
Lilian Rook	Over a loudspeaker; physically, somewhere in the near distance ahead of you; you hear the sharp crackle of distorted electronics echo off the buildings around you, and the snap-hiss of audio static carry down the street. With it, or rather, within it, you make out words, too. §Do you remember being born?§ §What about before that? Before you really came into being§ §Can you imagine §the will to be born§? Do you think you ever had one?§ §I know §she§ did. And I know §I§ did too. Our own, separate wills.§ §That's how §I/She/We§ can both be 'each other'.§ Following the sound isn't hard. It's the only one around, in the deathly ash-coated cityscape. Even if you were to stumble blind down the street, only vaguely in one direction, you'd come across it; the only building properly lit for miles, that may have been there all along; it suits the aesthetic, at least. A theatre. Period appropriate. The headline board is lit up so brightly that you can actually see it from afar. The windows glow with a kind of indistinctly war radiance from inside, even with the curtains drawn for closing. Blinking lights in the dark strobe and swivel beams of visible illumination in the dark. Each one that strikes you feels like what you imagine a chest x-ray would, if you could sense one. The airborne smoke is relatively thin up to its glass doors and velvet drapes. You can see the start of a checkered marbled floor beyond it. §'Lilian Rook' is already here; don't worry.§ crackles the loudspeaker. §She won't even notice if some of you don't make it~§ Even with that distortion, the carefree lilt is familiar. §You already know, don't you? That you're not really here for me.§ says Exigent Serenity; you can hear her 'voice' through the indoors speakers up close. §There's 'someone else' I'd like you all to meet.§
Stanley Padgett	The Neon Soaked Skylines are familiar. The ash and the blood in his mouth are not. The ash, he honestly doesn't have a problem with. The toxic air does not affect him. The blood, however. He struggles as he suddenly slides into his combat form, the sleek green and black tabard slipping into place, his hair turning bright green. He slaps a nearby wall and casts a healing spell on himself to staunch the blood, and then looks at the others. "...We gotta find-" he hacks. "Wherever... Serenity is..." And then the speakers... and the voice... and... And the Theater. This is new. This is new and something that FEELS like a Tyrant's domain. And more so that the bloody smog doesn't exist in here as much.
Angela	Angela is being held by Baba and can't see them sleeping but she can hear them. "Well ''I'' am ready." Angela tells Lilian. "The trainees I cannot vouch for Though It Would Be Helpful If Baba Woke Up." Mikey jolts up and kicks Baba in the shin. Baba blearily opens their eyes. "You're embarrrassing us, dude." Mikey tells Baba. Baba sighs, "Being awake is so inefficient...If we're going to suffer anyway can't I just sleep through it?" "But think about how impressive we'll look if we ''don't'' mess up and die." Baba seems skeptical but stretches out their arms and swings their EGO weapon over their shoulder as the group moves into the Reversal and they immediately start feeling like they're choking on their own blood! Mikey makes a gagging noise like he's trying to clear his throat of something that just won't leave it. "Bummer..." He manages. Baba grimaces and suffers silence. Complaining about how they feel like they're dying would be inefficient. Also, they suppose, it'll be good practice for when they inevitably die like this. Mikey opens his mouth and it feels like blood is gushing out of it and because of the sensation it's pretty hard to form words. Eventually he tries drinking one of Kukuru's soft drinks to see if it helps IT MAKES IT WORSE so he quickly hands the drink to Baba who downs it without complaint. ''Do you think you ever had one?'' "Not really." Baba says. "Is it better that way?" But Angela mostly seems curious that she can actually hear Exigent this way and bobs her head a little. If she accepted Carmen, she wonders if she'd think in terms of I/She/We herself, but she has been told she was very much not her from the jump and at this point she would frankly prefer not to be. Ah, I'm a little jealous. Carmen whispers to her. Having such a beautiful voice. Maybe in a next life, mm? "What is it like?" Angela asks in the way one might inquire about grass on the other side. The team walks, even miserably as the Agents might be. ''She won't even notice if some of you don't make it~'' "Ah, if that is true, you didn't have to worry about them." Angela says to Petra on that matter. ('C'mon man...' Mikey mutters sotto-voice but Angela wants them to be aware of the danger they're in so she doesn't bother consoling him. ''We gotta find--Wherever... Serenity is...'' Angela stares at Stanley for a moment but doesn't comment, her gaze looking like she's suffering more than the agents choking on blood due to having to hear that. ''There's 'someone else' I'd like you all to meet'' "Understood." Angela says. "Agents, go into the theater first. Mikey take the lead. Baba, hold up the video. We can use the footage if something happens." Mikey grimaces and very tentatively makes his way into the theater, Baba following 'splash distance' behind.
Friz	Friz's name being "'Friz'", with quotation marks, that seems to be acknowledged even faster than without the quotation marks in a way. "Guess so." Is a subconscious, stream of thought answer, spoken absently. And now the skyline is neon, the air is drowning, each breath is razor sharp. She clutches her chest. Grit: I am drowning. Grit: No. I smell drowning. But I'm also drowning. Savvy: Ough. What? That doesn't make sense. Moxie: No, no, hear her out. Dirt: Some of the others got flowers. I can see them decaying. Savvy: Didn't earn something important. Typical. Moxie: I should ask someone to borrow a spare, this is really miserable. Savvy: I'm not asking for that. Grit: Why? Savvy: If I don't ask for help, I don't have to load up all the information about the help I need, want, or already owe for. Better to suffer it for a while than make it even worse. Dirt: It's not that... ahhh, boss, alright. Friz needs several seconds to get herself together after first exposure to all of this. She makes a few soft, weak noises initially, but she manages to get herself together after a little while, focusing on the voice. She manages to speak... "I don't remember having the will to be born. I don't remember it either. I'm not sure that I could if I tried. Or learn what it's like. I understand wanting and how that can create two things that mutually exclude each other (while being (in some ways) the same) though. And I have a feeling I'm going to learn a lot more from meeting who you want me to meet." The flickering silhouette next to her, barely visible, flickers just that little bit more. A dead man doesn't mind the pain, though surely it'll get to him sooner or later. But he focuses with the determination of a hardboiled soul. Snatches of his conversation might be heard in this supernatural space by the most attentive: "Need to see it. All of it, or enough to get it. That nagging feeling in my gut, that hitch in my skull, it keeps saying nothing's going to go right unless I understand this. Get in there, kid." Friz looks like she's muttering to herself: "I'll survive. Kind of... have the feeling that learning about this is the second best chance to survive anyway.
Kukuru	Petra reminds Kukuru about the flower buds, prompting Kukuru to take out the one she had obtained so long ago. She smiles encouragingly a moment later, even giggling a moment later when she sees that small moment between Petra and Lilian. There's even the start of a brightening 'aww' coming out of her, but Kukuru stops herself before she can really belt it out. It'd be so cute to see if she can fluster them a bit, but self-control actually wins out for once. She doubts either of them would approve of her fawning over such a thing, and for good reason. That brief downer moment for her gets cut short, thankfully, as another familiar voice whispers into her ear and brings her spirits right back up. Should it? Maybe not, but she can't help it when you two have always been so kind to me. Kinder than I've ever been to either of you, too, but... Not for much longer. I've got a lot of catching up to do, and I know what I need to fight for now. Who, too. If it's for my families... I can destroy anything. Kukuru breaks into her usual peaceful, vacant smile for a moment, and then she remembers that she's still in the middle of actually working when the foul feeling snaps her back to reality. Wrinkling her nose, she forces her way through the opening, holding her hands out to her sides to help pull along anyone that needs that extra tug to get in there. Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the fog, trying to peer through it without searing her eyes on those awful lights or getting it all fucked up with that ash haze. With her flower bud protecting her from the taste of blood, Kukuru doesn't even notice that one of the petals starts to turn gray. She still notices the seawater and the charcoal, though, flicking her tongue out every now and then to try and wash the former out with the latter. Grimacing lightly, Kukuru joins Mikey in taking some drinks to wash out that bad taste with fizzy chemical flavors instead. Once she notices Lilian's sudden disappearance, prompting her to listen once again to the familiar voice when she speaks through the loudspeakers. "No...? Um. I remember..." She starts to answer and trails off, trying to recall what her first actual memory is. Curious faces, a smoking mantle, warm hearths... But being born? Trying to be born? "Nothing that far back." She keeps answering/letting her stream of consciousness keep going while following the sound, opening up dark purple clouds to step in and out of to eliminate the need to run. Even with all that fog around, Kukuru can barely see enough to know that she isn't putting herself through a wall, and the brightly lit board makes it easy to make that last jump while still having time to chew on what Exigent Serenity is telling everyone. "She doesn't need to notice. She's got a lot on her plate already. And you're..." Kukuru sighs lightly as she steps up to the glass doors, resting a palm against one to give it a gentle nudge like she's trying to ease it open rather than force it open. "I'm here for both of you. Not just Lili, not just Exi. I promised to help both of you, remember?" She pauses for a moment. "... Or do you like Serry better? What about..." 'There's 'someone else' I'd like you all to meet.' ".. Oh! A friend?"
Petra Soroka	Unfortunately for everyone else, and also for Petra, Petra isn't nearly as capable of being casual about having her hair pulled as Lilian is doing it. A short, surprised moan escapes from her mouth before she bites her lip to silence it, allowing herself to be dragged aside with no resistance, her face reddening in real time. She coughs and looks away from the Elites to hide her blush, golden lily charm on her collar jingling with the head movement. Petra's never been to the Reversal, but it's intuitively obvious where the bright, vapid pointlessness of the default ends, and Lilian's influence begins. Remembering how Lilian snapped at her when she gawked in the NovaTech office, Petra does her best to look very focused and... professional, insofar as she can do that, taking in the monochromatic cityscape. Her efforts to not seem too excited about the enriching, new, Lilian-centric environment are helped along by the fact that she's still feeling self-conscious from earlier, and she glances at the others to assess their reactions and make sure everyone's together. Immediately, she notices that Lilian is gone, and her delicately assembled seriousness splinters into honest surprise. "Did Lilian go up ahead already? No, she totally wouldn't have--" Then, secondary and far less pressing, she notices that almost everyone else is reacting with severe pain and discomfort and examines one of the buds in her hand to confirm the association. Looking at everyone struggling so much, Petra presses her lips together and thinks for a moment. Without needing to be prompted, or even having any immediate risk, Petra takes a few longer strides to catch up with Mikey and Baba, addressing them without looking. "If you think you're going to die from it, I can give each of you one. Not if it just sucks, but if you're actually going to die." "Ah, if that is true, you didn't have to worry about them." Petra gives Angela an apologetic look, grabbing Baba's wrist to slide the tablet off her arm and equip it onto her own. "Sorry, Angela. I don't really want to take the risk. She'd notice in the reports afterwards, and that counts just as much." The fact that she's decided that now is the time to become Angela's vehicle again speaks to another kind of risk-management. §<<Do you think you ever had one?>>§ No, of course. But you already know that. I'm working on it. After tending to the agents, Petra falls back in line, gravitating towards Tamamo, of all places, and takes Pillar of Creation off her back. She doesn't acknowledge it verbally, not unless Tamamo does, but it's a quiet fulfillment of 'Of course. Would you expect any different?', standing in for Lilian until she's back, regardless of whether she's actually suited to the same position. Petra wavers at the theatre doors, hanging back for just a moment. She looks at Mikey, commanded to be the first one in, and visibly contemplates this for a second. Of anyone here, those two agents are the most likely to die when stepping into an unfamiliar situation, but they're also the most acceptable deaths. In the end, Petra decides to defer to Angela's instruction and let them go first. §<<You already know, don't you? That you're not really here for me.>>§ Petra tilts her head, idly rubbing her thumb along the black-gold glass of her spear while thinking. "Not... '§you§'? But you definitely don't just mean that Lilian is the one we're here for instead, do you?"
Tamamo	'Lilian Rook' is already here; don't worry.' This is what Tamamo needs address first, because Lilian's disappearance is the first thing she notices, even before the ash and the blighted cityscape. Yes, to be sure, Lilian is adept at disappearing. However, she is also adept at returning quickly, should she care to. Quickly enough for her absence to never be noticed. That she would not care to is, under the circumstance of her prior promise, impossible. "That makes for a difficult request." Tamamo worries. Petra's self-positioning is, in subtle but wordless ways, by look and motion, accepted. The attempt to cover for an unexpected situation is read for what it is with fair accuracy. Tamamo is quicker to compose herself externally than internally. Her heart is more delicate than her poise. 'Do you remember being born?' "Do you mean the first time, or the last time?" 'What about before that? Before you really came into being.' "In part, I do. I remember the one who watched, and I remember what She saw. That 'purpose,' to give it its most vague and least revealing name, fills me. Ah, but, you knew this already, yes? Long ago, before the first time, the earliest memory of a 'self' within 'the world'... how should a star feel when she first lights the sky, I wonder? That answer is one I lack." A washed-out world that should be bright, that has every appearance of having been made to be bright, but that lacks any color. Tamamo watches this, too, and allows the sound and light to guide her to their destination. They can hardly get lost, this way. Maybe, if she realized just what was happening, she'd take a different tactic than Kukuru in providing a protection to those lacking flowers of their own. Since she doesn't, and she's more than distracted by Lilian's disappearance despite the reliably steadfast gaze she chooses to adopt, the seriousness of the situation hasn't yet registered on her. 'You already know, don't you? That you're not really here for me.' "Truly?" Tamamo sounds... doubtful? "I cannot speak for the others. However..." 'There's 'someone else' I'd like you all to meet.' "'Someone else,' is it? I shall withhold my questions for the sake of your surprise."
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte's discomfort is unnoticed. Her clear thoughts ignored by the previously so attentive Exigent Serenity. The only glance she gets is one of smug satisfaction from Petra, which only prompts her to dip her head a little further, a tight frown on her lips. "What even did you want me to do..." she mutters under her breath, "When I thought I figured it out, everyone else shouted me down and blocked me from acting... So was it really something like 'agency'?" "What lesson was I supposed to learn from all this?" She pauses, glancing sidelong at Delilah again. Too far away, she hopes, to have heard any of that. Realizing she's the only person left on the Lampport side, alone with this unnerving woman, Charlotte can only swallow her doubts and enter the Reversal. Sliding sideways is always an experience. Charlotte arrives on the Other Side immediately coughing. Fumbling for her purse, she pulls out a kercheif and holds it over her mouth and nose. It helps... a little. It takes a moment for her to choke out, "Galatea..!" and summon the Living Statue to her side, "Panacea..!" Galatea rears back and aims her cannon high, launching an icy blue sphere. This bursts, raining down an umbrella of restorative, calming light. Swallowing hoarsely, the girl corrects her posture, lifting her gaze towards the others and the theater that beckons. Letting out a soft exhale, she closes her eyes and trudges onward. You already know I don't remember anything. You thought it was so funny when you found out. Really, why am I doing this? I guess... I can see it through, then I'll get out of your hair forever.
Touta Konoe	In familiar fashion whether it be intentional or not, his words feel like they fall on deaf ears. Though it's not like he's done anything important enough to garner a response has he? If this was the point to which one needed to have been clear in their intentions, than Touta Konoe's would have been murkier than most. What had just been an intent to help the two from Lamport, to return their city to them. It felt like that desire while still there had changed shape in a way as well. Unlike the other times as his voice rings silent, there's no tension. No inner turmoil. It's not that he doesn't want to be heard. To have his existence acknowledged. It's just that now he has... It takes a moment for Touta to familiarize himself with Delilah, in truth he wasn't really paying attention to the mascot the first time he had seen her but when she does appear that slow lingering familiarity does finally catch him. "Ah, thanks...Hopefully won't need it though." He grabs the ticket, though even with the offering, he finds it hard to think of what would truly bring a definitive end. What would be enough to force such an act? Even now Kukuru is assuring the others that she'll protect them from even death itself. Something that Touta would never need to concern himself with and perhaps is the reason her focus is upon them. Offering snacks and drinks, anything and everything to bring comfort. It's enough that even if he's not at the center of it to bring a smile. There's little time to think more on Lilian's words, on the words of others as they breach into the Reversal and with it...It's like the first time entering Lamport all over again. That unfamiliar sensation that washes over the senses, that feels as if one walks into a body of water. The effects are different as they linger, but the sensation...It rings all too similar. If there's any difference it's the ability to start walking immediately the moment they start heading into the world of Neon lights and deepening darkness. Though with each step... Touta finds the taste of iron in his mouth, all but overwhelming to his senses. He attempts to spit the taste out though no matter what he does it always lingers, no it becomes stronger in fact. Enough to make one want to wipe the blood from their nose. There's only one remedy... Stop breathing.
Touta Konoe	The taste of iron, and cool sea water still suffocate him. Yet, when you don't need to breathe, it's easier to not breathe in as much soot. You just suffer through the cuts that are already there, the ones that are passing being taken in. You just have to stomach the sensation of being underwater in your own body while holding your breath. It's almost like erasing your own existence. Though perhaps erasing wasn't the right word. In the time up to this point, in each opportunity that he appeared in Lamport, he had always questioned it. If being here mattered. If there was a purpose for him to be here or if it would have been better if he had just faded away. It's just as Lilian's presence fades from the eye does he find an answer. No it was an answer he came to before coming here on this day. The answer to both exist...And to fade away simultaneously. As Touta Konoe continues towards the source of the noise, a divergence occurs. §Do you remember being born?§ "I can't..." There is I/He/We who continues to exist within physical form,that continues to accept the pain of existence in this space as one who embraces existence within the Reversal and all that comes with it. That without the clear path which chooses to see through with what he started. That which while existing on the same plane, finds it hard to reach those around him... Being formed in this moment...Does it count as being born? And then there was I/He/We who chose to fade. That which had emanated and seeped away from the physical through black fog. That which was attempting to become ethereal. To exist and meld into the already amplified darkness that made up this world if only to attempt to reach for that existence beyond the physical. An existence was and was not, created to reach out to another existence of similar origin. That voice travels within the fog and fades into darkness only to be heard by that which asks the question. Perhaps this voice, this existence was incapable of reaching the same plane as that other existence...One could only compare it to the attempt of calling out to another from the otherside of a door. §What about before that? Before you really came into being§ Before that I was Me...Him...Us...? Before that... §Can you imagine §the will to be born§? Do you think you ever had one?§ §I know §she§ did. And I know §I§ did too. Our own, separate wills.§
Touta Konoe	If it was separate...We...? He...? I don't know...But...To appear this way. To try to reach out to §You§...Feels like part of that will... As the conversation persists, he who lingers in the physical knows not of what is said. His focus when it comes to that voice is that of following it to the theatre. Taking in each moment as lights beam out, their blinding rays only harsher in contrast to the darkness the group had been accommodated to this point. Still, he continues to walk the marbled floor as its presented, continuing to listen to the voice carried by the static echo within the theatre. §'Lilian Rook' is already here; don't worry.§ §She won't even notice if some of you don't make it~§ §You already know, don't you? That you're not really here for me.§ § There's 'someone else' I'd like you all to meet.§ "Not Lilian, and not to see you...So then..." Even now it seemed as if people were filling in the pieces. If even he was able to pick up on the potential identity of that to which they were going to meet, then surely those so much more knowledgeable of Lilian surely had a better idea. And yet, as he who existed still as he was prepared for that meeting... No...We...He...I am here to speak to §You§
Hamada Haru	Sometimes, you're just late. Only by a little though, because Hamada Haru is usually enough of a perfectionist that his lateness is planned. In this case, though, he just got hung up. After the very last person besides him passes through the portal, he follows after in silence. He's not done here, at least not while Lilian has been left exposed in the way that she has-- and people present have already exhibited a willingness to mess with the place in a way that they don't know aren't harmful to her. The taste of blood starts filling his mouth. Haru pauses then, taking it into account. It's a sensation that he's not entirely unfamiliar with, truth be told, though he wouldn't like to admit that he's experienced anything similar. He weighs the reality of the situation for a moment, and tries to decide whether being as gross as spitting blood is equal to the situation. For the moment at least, he just starts walking and focuses his attention inwards. @ Yes. I do. I do remember that. @ We're not born when our flesh begins. @ I remember... There is a lab, and many gadgets. There are experiments, though they don't involve him. There is a man with a furnace heart and bionic musculature and a skeleton of something not quite steel. And there are belts. The man with the furnace-heart began the process, and the belts hurried it along, but a woman wearing one of those belts is who finished it. Right now, there is a woman who looks to be freaking out from this exchange. The memories are broken, and Hamada Haru stops to one side of Friz. The need of the situation adjusts his course. Turning his head away from Friz in particular, he spits the blood. The thought of blood. Whatever it is, he spits it out. Enough give himself the notion that he can speak. "Lean on me, if you need to, Detective," he says. Why her, and nobody else? If he had to explain himself, Haru would say she seems the most helpless, if only momentarily. It occurs to him briefly that, probably, to somebody the same is true of himself. Thinking of the woman with the belt, he decides he wouldn't really mind having somebody to lean on just now, and puts the rest of his meanderings out of mind. Ordinarily, this close, and doing what he is, Haru would probably have the attentiveness to observe the flickering silhouette next to Friz. Unfortunately, he's standing in it and chalks the flickering up to the same effect that makes him feel like he has some kind of awful blood flu.
Stanley Padgett	"We're here to see... what all the fuss is about" Stanley's trying to joke, even with all that's going one, it seems. He staggers a bit, as Charlotte's heal seals his wounds, for now, lets him breathe... at all. A hand presses to the back of his friend, steadying both of them it would seem. And then he's looking properly at the 'theater', at the whole... oeuvre that's on display. "...no, we're here to see the show. Whatever is on stage must be something special, to go through all this trouble, to go through this much... preproduction. The tech days must have been hell." More attempts at jokes, as he waves to Haru who makes in after them. But oddly enough? Delilah has stepped over to this side as well. She didn't even slide through the portal. She just... steps through a shadow next to the rest of the group. If she's bothered by the smog and the disruption on this side, she's not showing it. She tuts at the dust getting on her crisp blue dress and then suddenly it's not dusty any more. "I do hope you all don't mind me tagging along, after all. I'm... very interested in this." A soft smile, and she hefts the heavy grimoire on its sling on her shoulder, looking around like she's never been here before. Oooohs and ahhhhhhs, and it's... unclear how sincere that is.
Friz	Friz leans on Haru. "Don't think I need to," She mutters. "But I've got the foresight to save myself for the bigger problems. I'll pump the adrenaline that I need when we see what we need to deal with. Until then, I always appreciate the help with looking."
Hamada Haru	Haru nods, moving slightly to better support Friz. "Then maybe I do. Don't know. Head's pretty fuzzy. You can think of it whichever way you prefer."
Lilian Rook	The external speakers, meant for gripping advertisement in a comprehensible world, whine with a tinge of electric distortion from the soot and ash leaking through their mesh, but the impression of that voice comes through so staggeringly clear. It almost barely makes a difference, once the glass-fronted doors unlatch clack, like a sheathing sword and sweep inwards no bell, but it jingles all the same. The shift of harsh exterior briefly bleeds together, and then fades over completely to clean interior surround-sound, designed for soft music, and the words in the air are still invisibly the same. It's only that now, you hear the faint undertone to it. The accompanying harmony of 'Lilian's voice, but somehow not'. The structure of her pitch, resonance, cadence, but without 'something' personally defining. An absence of one note that changes the melody. §I thought so. It's not something <humanity/children of branches> are meant to feel. That feeling is a <potential> that <'they'> decided for you already. <'Theirs'> is 'yours', and you aren't meant to know it at all.§ The interior is visibly far clearer than the outside streets. The black and white floor gleams under the reflected glow of warmly lit candle-chandeliers draped in crystal-- or glass. The facsimile of an empty ticket desk, concession counter; the chairs and tables and upholstered waiting seats all shine with ample care, vivid red on impossibly glossy dark wood. The velvet stanchions iconic of old theatres, at second glance, use braided rope and black iron. §But then, that feeling, that 'will', isn't meant for <'us'>, either. That <potential> was taken from the <children of roots> long ago. <I> am not supposed to know it, either. <The will to be born> is something so special that it isn't named, in your words or 'ours'.§ No, at second glance, the theatre is 'cleaned', but still nowhere near 'clean'. Soot is swept into the corners, heaped under chairs, hidden behind counters. If you try to, you can ignore it on purpose, and drink in the illusion of immaculate order. Even the empty bottles and cases behind the counter are spotless. But you can't help but breathe it in. The invisible haze that saps away warmth and unprotected pulse, and chokes words in vulnerable throats. It's not much better than outside. Just more orderly. §That <Lilian Rook> had one makes her not-quite 'human'; not as <'they'> envisioned. The fact that <I> had one makes <me> not-quite 'one of us', too; <children of roots> have no name for it either.§ To head in further is to step into the dark. The lights dim dramatically through the lobby, beyond the curtains and into the shadowed entrance. A fixture has gone out. Permanently extinguished. The blot of darkness is just a little too hard to ignore. But you can mostly do it, if you try. The grand double doors at the end are a little too big. Fastened with rope on iron handles. But not securely. Not enough to seal it. §<She> is a little like <I>, and <I> am a little like <her>, because we both leaned on each other, to survive. We took a little of one another to make our <will to be born> real. There probably isn't a real 'order' that we came to exist in, you know. We were <born on the same day/at midnight>. But <I> think that <'Lilian'> is the older twin, haha~§
Lilian Rook	By now, the first petal of the flowers in use has turned fully, vivid, midnight black. For its early ashen pallour, it looks far from 'rotted' or 'corroded'. It's almost more beautiful than before. Maybe it even is. But the second is greying. §Hmhm~ That's not quite true for all of you, though, is it? <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions> . . . You remember a little, don't you? The <will to be born> that is yours, but not quite yours. A <wish> in-between 'you' and 'She', rather than mirrored by the both of you. But I wonder, maybe even 'that' is why you can stand beside <'Lilian'> like that?§ The little snatches of laughter, even though you don't really 'hear' them, make what's missing in Lilian-but-not's voice something that sits on the tip of your tongue. They're a little prettier than hers. Easier to listen to. Maybe dangerously so. They're a little more frightening. §After all, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space> can just barely get close, too. Her faint <will to be born> isn't real yet. Desperate and blind, like a <stem growing towards the light>. But it resonates, just a little, even though you hate her~ Even though <'Lilian Rook'> does a little too.§ Healing barely helps. It does a little bit, of course, but the relief is short-lived. It feels fake. Hard to accept. Why would even your own power want to help you? Try all you want. It'll float you along for a time. But that doubt will grow and win in the end. You know you don't deserve help. §It's such a shame, <Carmen/Chosen of Light> that yours couldn't fully <bloom> in the end.§ Not Angela. Carmen. §It really was something beautiful. But the world was too heavy, wasn't it? Too harsh. It wanted to kill your <will to be born> with everything it had. But, you know, it's the same for all of us who have one. Almost all of them choose to give it up to survive, or they give out and die with it <unspoken>. It's <wonderful/selfish> of you to <decompose> to feed <Angela/Unchosen of Carmen>, so that hers is strong enough to drive anyone insane.§ The straight shot seems a little too clear. A little too . . . much like you know better. You can pretend all you like. You know it's not safe to let yourselves wander. This is a space where you rehearse how to move. Memorize which faults to step around, and pretend the cracks aren't there. §Ah-- 'Friz', you should keep your friend inside the queue, you know. Even he might get hurt if he wanders off. You can be a little nosy, as a treat! But not that much.§ The voice laughs in a way that's a little different from all the previous ones. A variety that Lilian doesn't quite have. Undeliberate and organic. §There's no 'lesson' to learn either, Charlotte~ Ah, but you and Stanley . . . There's a surprise waiting for you two. Check behind the counter. You always have a <reservation> in this city, and the <staff> wanted you to know.§
Lilian Rook	There's a brief pop of static. Something in the system changing over. The sound isn't loud, but it makes the empty glasses in the room hum. The chandeliers clink and chime softly. The rope sways, a tiny bit. And-- there. It's like string, kind of. Straight lines crisscrossing the entire hall. Visible only for a split second. Their vibration-- no, the light just catches on them from the tiniest disruption of sound interplayed with air. Seams? Fractures. Crowding the empty lobby. Innumerable little splits in something that are all aligned just right to hide them. §That's an interesting answer, 'Hamada Haru'. It makes <Me/Her/Us> wonder how many other <humans> can grasp that. How many do you think are suitable for a <thing like a will>? Even <'Lilian'> thinks about what you said 'back then', you know. <I> can feel its inverse. Another <severed branch> growing back, but a little different than before.§ Another laugh. So close. §And Kukuru, if you really must play around with my <name/shape>, the only way I'll let you <look at it differently> is . . . §Exis§. Okay? That's a little bit like the one way <Lilian> doesn't lose its meaning. But that's a secret~§
Friz	Friz is familiar with cleaned yet unclean. She always sees the local janitor working, sure, but never finished with her job. This, in a way, is a lot easier to deal with than the overwhelming bright lights. A city of pure specta, isn't it? Maybe that makes the theater a shelter. "I don't know why I always thought you were like me. Not... me, me, not who I am, but like... You know, the way I've always thought about the aspects of what it means to be me. But you're something else, not just what Lilian Rook doesn't do but what humans don't do." She spits out more blood, wiping it away. "Or am I not getting it..." She whispers, tilting her head. A phantom pulls back a moment. Freezes, more like, as if given a much firmer direction than he really was. He looks to the sound system... and he goes a little silent. If Lilian wouldn't notice, ES would. That's the rules, right? He adjusts his jacket and sticks closer to the group, maybe chilling Haru as he shifts along behind Friz a moment. But he's allowed to explore. Not much. But just a bit. Even he's flickering in this gradual pain and loss though. He lights the ghost of a cigarette to take the edge off. There's a whisper one might barely hear, if incredibly focused or attuned. "I'll stick in line. But I've got something I'm here to see and the kid and I can't afford not seeing it." He rubs his head. What's that hitch in his skull, the one driving him to look into this strange side of reality, to look for the mechanisms for how time was properly manipulated? Where, in this theater, would give them a hint about what froze everything and how? Friz looks closely. Her tuned senses and well-made glasses mean she should be able to see the fractures enough to evade the worst of their consequences in passage through this space, beyond the hall. Maybe the theater's stage will give better insights. Or maybe the backstage.
Kukuru	The unpleasant noise of the external speakers would normally bother Kukuru more if she was hearing only them and nothing else. Loud noises often do that, and distorted ones even more so. The eye-singing exterior and the unnaturally clean interior threaten to overwhelm her vision, too, as there's just so much suff to look at without any of it being who she wants to really see. With so many familiar voices to hear and faces around, though, she finds frequent pockets of relief, to feel her eay around, and ultimately zero in on the voice that isn't quite Lilian's, but isn't completely unfamiliar. Naturally, she doesn't quite understand a lot of what's being said, but she looks relieved nonetheless. "Children of branches and children of roots... Younger and older children, then?" Kukuru murmurs to herself as she tries to piece together what she's hearing even as the interior of the theater starts to reveal its own shortcomings. No. not shortcomings. Just... Things hidden away, like she's seeing something that shouldn't be. Part of that almost feels wrong to look at, too, as she starts to recall how it felt just seeing so many frozen people and the environment outside of this space, how dirty she felt just staring at them during what felt like an eternity ago. Lilian's/Her voice brings her back every time, even if she doesn't fully or even remotely grasp a lot of what's being said. What she does latch onto has her smiling softly, though, looking up at nothing in particular and yet trying to look directly at her. "Then you're inseparable. Like sisters? That's good... Lili. Exis." Kukuru's smile brightens a bit more when she gives Kukuru permission to use a different name, and she's already keen on using that one. "Of course. I can use Exigent Serenity, too, if that's what you'd like." It takes her a while to actually say all that, but she manages it. "I.. Never did ask Lili.. Um. Lilian what she likes, have I?" Kukuru pauses for a moment, then slumps in place as she recalls that Lilian's disappeared. That doesn't last long before she remembers that Exigent Serenity is right there in a sense, though, as she looks back up with that same hopeful-ish smile. "Exis? Did she ever tell you if she liked being called Lili? Or.. Not at all?"
Angela	Mikey has little clue as to what the Serenity is saying. ACtually, to be clear, Mikey would probably never understand. Despite being an artist, he is ultimately quite grounded. Baba, on the other hand, always seems to have one foot out of reality, diving deep into dark places within his subconcious by dreaming, dreaming deeper still. Baba rubs at their eyes. They both struggle to not gurgle but where Mikey is hacking and grimacing, Baba chokes with a serene xpression on their face. Angela always pays attention to plant and light metaphors. She doesn't hate Petra. She's not sure she can hate Petra because Petra, like the others, had given her something she hadn't received before and in the receiving, saw just how painful the absence of it can be. Her gaze slants towards Petra, watching her for an eternity. It is probably best that Angela didn't come in person or she'd be feeling like she was choking for hours, days, months, years. The absence rests on her longer but so does the love. It isn't equal, not at all. Baba and Mikey are caught up to by Petra. And Angela is taken by Petra and added to her inventory. Baba barely notices, their eyes half lidded. Angela's surprised but relents, "...I understand, Petra, I do not wish for her to feel responsible." She has desensitized herself so hard she sometimes forgets Lilian, whom she sees a lot of herself in, hasn't ... She stops thinking about it. Instead she thinks about how interesting it is that Serenity also uses terms like branches, roots. Tree terminology. The multiverse is a multiverse, of course, and so many worlds follow different rules that it's striking when the metaphors echo each other. "Does it matter that she's the older twin? If it's just by a moment, usually they say it's the same time--though I suppose there is a sense of--focus placed on the minute differences for twins." "Only a little isn't so bad." Angela says, of Lilian's hate for Petra. It could be a lot worse even from what she's heard from Petra herself. She's glad it's not. But before she can dwell on it any further-- Carmen is spoken to. Angela's eyes widen. Angela's not in the other world. She's here through a video screen that's not much more advanced than an ipad. Her mouth opens for a moment and then wordlessly clamps shut. Aww, I haven't given up yet. I intend to be a tough little seed~. It's just a body after all. I still have a voice that can echo through The City. Carmen is as always pleased to have someone to talk to. Ah, can you hear me because you are in the Reverse, or could you always? A thoughtful pause when Angela is spoken of. She's a cutey isn't she? Ontologically so. I'm really excited to see what she chooses. Angela does not say anything, she might have not even heard that part. She seems anxious with the knowledge that her connection to Carmen can be witnessed. She's part of Lilian, she thinks, so it makes sense. She's Lilian-adjacent, so it's okay. Even if it is not exactly so. Everyone loves her more than they love you Angela closes her eyes. "It is a really beautiful voice." She agrees, though. She can't not.
Stanley Padgett	Stanley's brow furrows, and he looks up at the speakers, at Serenity's... Exis' voice, so close and yet so far from Lilian's now. Not that he'll use that name. No. That was reserved for Kukuru. The laugh that was... a natural one. Too natural. Lovely. Melodic. He catches himself dangling at that emotion, before the words slip back into place around him. "...I'm sure there is. This seems like the place that knows its patrons." He adjusts his tie, loosening it, letting it hang a little more limply around his collar. He needed room to breathe, to exist. To feel. His hand is still on Charlotte, still maintaining that contact, as he tries to ignore the mess, ignore the cracks in the seams of the fake reality, the Shadow amalgam around them. "Hey, I'm gonna see what they left for us." He takes her hand, to help lead her on and around. Everyone else was here for Lilian and ES, it's true. And Stanley had come to accept that he needed to see that through as well, freeing and making Lilian whole again. But this was still SteelLampport and it was still his... if not duty, then burden to protect and restore. He'd made a contract after all. He'd taken the deal even if he couldn't remember what that deal quite was anymore. Delilah continues to just... follow the group. A little bit of a tutting at the mess, but she doesn't seem inclined to help fix the mess or do anything about it.
Hamada Haru	@ Every single one. That answer comes like lightning, and all that follows is the thunder of Haru's thoughts that follow. He turns his head away from Friz and spits again, still unsure of the physical aspect of the blood that is welling up in him. He asides to Friz, "Sorry. Spitting is pretty rude, but this is too uncomfortable. And I don't feel like internalizing it." @ Society is a machine that lessens the load. @ Most of the time it is designed to lessen the load for people who deserve it the least. @ And what trickles down to 'everyone' is because somebody fought for it... @ Because of that, most people are disarmed of their suitability as their life progresses. @ They do not need that kind of will. @ But the tabula rasa of any given human is not so different from one to the next, at the start. @ Once, that was the thing that let us drive bigger, stronger things extinct. Before we made machines to make that incidental. Looking around, Haru tries to take in anything about the environment that makes sense. He likes theaters, though it's been a while since he was in one. "Filthiness is concealed, but not cleaned," he observes aloud, for Fritz's benefit. Then, after a moment, "Not 'filthiness', but flaws in general. I see..." @ Hmf. Not sure what to call me. Guess that's what I get for floundering since Twin Peaks. @ But the answer is obvious. Although I have no belt, I am Kamen Rider Era. Haru shudders a bit as the phantom's presence gets to him, just a little. He hears him because he's listening for his other conversation partner, and can distinguish what little he hears only because it's too unexpected to be completely unnoticed. "Can't afford what? I doubt money is a concern here, but if it is, I've got it." He's talking to Friz. Probably thinks he's a little delirious. Shaking his head, Haru returns to a previous thing that Friz says. "Not getting what, though? Walk me through it. I see the seams, here... looks to me like you're getting it better than I am." Which makes it good that they're supporting each other, though increasingly Haru thinks Friz is doing more of the work than he is.
Tamamo	...clack, like a sheathing sword... ...it jingles all the same... ...braided rope and black iron... However much else puts one on edge, at least for those without the protection of the flowers, there are a few things that give Tamamo small feelings of ease. It's a sense of familiarity that avoids feeling uncanny, even in what could be an alien place. This thing is as it should be, and this thing as she's accustomed to, and this thing... A fixture has gone out. Permanently extinguished. No, that's not right. That shouldn't be. Tamamo reaches up for the fixture, drawing something from her sleeve. She doesn't carry spare light bulbs with her, as many small items as she does pack for convenience, but a paper talisman filled with the bright, yet slow-burning energy of the Sun is something simple for her. She affixes one over each burnt and broken bulb, to watch the power flow -- ultimately, from her, through the medium of her past efforts with time and blessed ink -- into each bulb. It's not a precise restoration, but not quite a full replacement, either. Satisfied, she continues on. '. . . You remember a little, don't you? The <will to be born> that is yours, but not quite yours.' "Perhaps," she says. "Shall we say that 'a wish' is motion? When it is held, one cannot remain still. One may guide the turbulence it creates, and where it touches the edge of 'the self,' one may resist its motion, or else, allow its pull. I was born of the storm of that desire, for She could not see it through, Herself. Should there be any others like myself, among those children of your knowledge, I know not." She continues on, engrossed in what's ahead far more than properly aware of how others are faring. It's easy enough to see Haru and Friz standing close, or Stanley and Charlotte, and assume, at a glance, that they're fine.
Charlotte Newman	Something so persistent as 'the environment' was never going to be solved by a curitive spell that only really affects temporary things. The reprieve is temporary, and that's what Charlotte expected. Just-- a moment to collect herself, ease into it, rather than get blasted in the face. It's tough to breathe like this, but she'll manage somehow now that she isn't choking. She tucks the kercheif away, for all the good that was, glancing towards Stanley when he touches her back; just as much to steady her as to steady himself. "Y-yeah," the girl manages. When Delilah pops through, Charlotte freezes, staring at the woman as she primps and preens and makes a fuss about looking neat. After a moment, she exhales and pushes on, "What is she doing here..?" She doesn't expect an answer from Stanley and certainly not from Delilah, given she just walks away and into the theater without waiting for one. While Exigent Serenity chats over the speakers, Charlotte takes in the interior. Immediately struck by the fanciful, classic look of the venue. It takes her a bit to spot the ashen dust piled up in places that's easy to ignore, frowning a touch as she crouches down with her hands folded over her knees. When she hears her name, the girl stands back up, glancing habitually towards the ceiling. There is no lesson? She starts to wind up, stiffening, taking a deep breath--and promptly choking on the ashen, bloody suffocation of it. Thrown into a fit of coughing, it takes the girl a moment to gather herself again, gasping out a quiet, "F-Forget it..." She hopes this isn't the revelation she's starting to think it is. That she's only thinking that because of the intrusive negativity of this place. That it's something to resist, and not the reality of her situation. The static-pop stops her, glancing to-and-fro across the floor for several seconds even after the brief show of fractures has faded from sight. "Oh--" She shoots a look at Stanley when he takes her hand, deliberately ignoring Delilah. Glancing back, she breaks off from the group with him to check the counter as Exigent Serenity/Lilian had recommended. Charlotte isn't sure what to expect from this surprise.
Touta Konoe	The time spent within the reversal has been long enough for those with flowers to find their petals becoming a full black. For them, it's a single of encroachment. Of what is likely to come should they linger with their task. For those without, the effects are already vivid. People spitting up blood left and right. Whether strong or weak, no one without the mark of approval of those flowers is saved from them. Healing barely helps. It does a little bit, of course, but the relief is short-lived. It feels fake. Hard to accept. Why would even your own power want to help you? Try all you want. It'll float you along for a time. But that doubt will grow and win in the end. You know you don't deserve help. Touta is no exception to it. He can survive the most brutal of wounds, complete annihilation of the body. Though, what was being attacked wasn't just the physical, what was causing this wasn't so easy that it could be mended even with immortality. It just allowed for one to stay alive enough to bear the pain, to allow it to fester. Thus he can only attempt to join in as he coughs up blood into his palm before. It's nothing to deter at least...It hasn't grown to that yet. As the voice rings through the speakers, that familiar yet voice that speaks of the children of the branches and those of the roots. Children of branches and children of roots... Younger and older children, then? Kukuru's asks of the difference between the two children, and yet as she speaks the words, it's Tamamo's own that once again come to mind. "...More like...The ones that got to bask in the sun, and those that had to stay in the dirt..." It's not a remark meant directly for Kukuru, more just a thought that comes to mind as they speak. Those who had been able to be born and those who had not... E.S. speaks of the two relying on one another. Leaning on one another for survival. Perhaps there's such symbiosis between the two. Does it matter that she's the older twin? If it's just by a moment, usually they say it's the same time--though I suppose there is a sense of--focus placed on the minute differences for twins. "There's--Cough" He tries to say something back towards Angela and Petra's direction, but instead he finds himself coughing into his arm instead. Something that could have been said about twins. About the omen that they might bring. About perhaps the thought of what it meant for the two twins and the importance, the privileges that the one who was 'born' first might receive. "If you two really were twins, then...Not physically does this make you..." He can't think to say it aloud, but in a way rather than physical, but in a more spiritual sense it almost felt as though they were conjoined. Linked in such an inseparable manner that it was bringing inconvenience. Though the thought catches in his throat, like with his blood. He leaves the words at that, and decides within the theater to go check out behind the stage. He remembers Lilian saying once she'd done forms of idol work, if that was the case and E.S. was the one that Lilian was not. She'd be away from that spotlight. If the child of the branches indulged in the sun, then the child of the roots indulged in the dirt, no?
Petra Soroka	One petal blackened of six. Midnight black is prettier than grey, and Petra rubs her thumb gently over the affected petal. There's something weighty about a 'black' that signifies presence rather than absence, like a little slice of an infinitely deep other world cupped in her hand. Petra feels a stab of vindictive jealousy towards the two agents that she'd just offered the chance to hold the lilies if they needed to, as if they'd insisted on taking them, even though they didn't even ask her for them yet. As Exigent Serenity waxes on about the metaphor, Petra is increasingly anxiously trying to grasp onto it herself, her mental dexterity feeling stiff and clumsy and frustrating her in her inability to understand. "The roots... in this case..." for creating something new instead of being on the, receiving fringes (branches)? I'm sorry. I "... know I need to understand it. I'm trying." Petra, so inwardsly focused on absorbing Exigent Serenity's words, slips between speech and telepathy erratically, trailing off mid-sentence and only audibly picking up sometime later. Petra's quiet awe at the interior of the theatre isn't dulled at all by the presence of soot. The little messy corners are just as fascinating to her as the imperious black iron and radiant glass, though she's careful not to go poking around at them-- that just undoes all the work that went into sweeping it away, and this immaculate lobby is the image that was clearly meant to be shown. Petra even takes a moment to brush off the accumulated ash on her hair and jacket before crossing the threshold, though it's inevitable that she especially would track some in anyways. §<<But <I> think that <'Lilian'> is the older twin, haha~>>§ "That seems right..." Petra automatically assigns 'Lilian', as she is, a level of agency above even Exigent Serenity, and feels fairly sure that Lilian would conceive of 'reaching out' even before anything existed to reach back for her. Barely managing to conceptualize that thought in the sea of abstract metaphor, Petra's thoughts quickly diverge down a different path to do with Lilian being an older twin. §<<Even though <'Lilian Rook'> does a little too.>>§ Petra preens at being singled out, like a student being given a gold star. Being reminded that Lilian hates her doesn't do much to counteract that, and she just nods a little, more subdued but not unhappy. "I'd be worried if she didn't. I think everyone--" Petra starts responding to Angela, but cuts off with a strange expression, finishing telepathically to Exigent Serenity. Everyone trustworthy does. But Angela doesn't, and I know she's trustworthy. She should hate me a little bit, shouldn't she? Is it something that I'm doing wrong that she doesn't? The imposing doors are more enticing to Petra than they should be. The urge to step into the dark, to push through all the cracks to feel them catch against her skin and step on the creaky floorboards to share the spike of fear when attention is drawn to her is enough that she wanders ahead away from Tamamo at first. She pauses by gut feeling, then turns around to see Tamamo repairing the light with her own talisman, and watches with a weird expression before returning back to sticking near her.
Friz	"Huh? Ahh--" Looks like Haru noticed something Rogers said, so Friz just continues as best she can in the disorienting decay-pain. "It's not like that. Well, in a way, but not so simple. It's about... something my dead predecessor needs." Not "needed." "Needs." As for what she wasn't getting? "The ability to... yearn for existence before existing. Wanting survival and before being alive." She looks to Haru for a moment, stopping her otherwise fairly consistent walk. "Where we come from, even just communicating something like that... we have specific words for how we don't have the words for it. It doesn't make sense."
Hamada Haru	//It's about... something my dead predecessor needs.// In Hamada Haru's mind's eyes, there is a woman in armor, dying in the streets. He can't do anything about it. It will define his career, maybe his whole life. Haru nods. He hasn't actually caught on to what's transpiring yet, but he thinks he does. For practical purposes, it's probably close enough. "What would that be?" //The ability to... yearn for existence before existing. Wanting survival and before being alive.// "Birth of flesh isn't the same as the birth of self. You can lack the will to be born even if you've already been born. Sometimes the world's so hostile to what you are, that if you don't have that, or don't obtain that, 'you' don't get to exist," he tries to explain, feeling all the while that he's doing a bad job of it. "Though I believe it's not a metaphor, it doesn't apply only to beings that naturally exist like 'that'. A long time ago, when I thought she was out of control, I looked into things... what I found, isn't mine to share, for the most part. But I don't doubt that 'that' sort of will is necessary for her. Or has been. Did you see how she reacted when Adachi violated her ground rules and I stepped in? She didn't expect it of anybody here. And there are, I think, people here she should expect that of more than me. But still, she didn't. Maybe that helps. I don't know."
Lilian Rook	§I don't think it's possible for you to 'get', 'Friz'. Not fully. Or else you'd be <'Lilian Rook'>, wouldn't you? I think you aren't completely wrong. <I> am an aspect of what <she> chooses to do, and <she> is an aspect of what <I> choose as well. A little like yours~ But we only share one, between us. We each have our own, too. What <'Lilian Rook'> does is already just a little bit like <what humans don't do>. A gouge into the dark room that is <me>. Or maybe I'm the light coming through? Haha~)§ The clues, or maybe the lack of them, piece together an unsettling picture for a grizzled detective that isn't really there. Lampport-- at least its Neon City-- is supposed to be a theatre of mind. The fact that there's no Shadow is an outstanding loose end with no connections. Exigent Serenity isn't a facet of Lilian's psyche; not a denied one or anything else. She doesn't have a Persona. She almost 'is' one, in a classic regard. If there has to be a labyrinth of thought, and a symbolic frame of need and denial, it has to be the theatre itself, right? Or, it must be sprawling from something deep within it. She'd said something about 'bleeding' from a 'wound'. It's hard to imagine a snazzy period theatre resonating with Lilian on a deep level. It reminds him of blood seeping out of a bullet wound and into white clothes. §That's also not wrong, Kukuru, but not the essence of it, either.§ says Exigent Serenity. §Roots are what's left after you hack away all the branches for wood, aren't they?§ The soft static that fills the empty space is more the implication of a laugh than reality of one, or of silence. §Sisters . . . That's just like you.§ §Not really~§ She says to Angela. Playful? But in a way Lilian never is. Not quite(?). §It's something I <think> about, idly. Ah, but that's only a crude parallel term. I suppose it's kind of a 'nuance' that helps explain? After all, you're not even really hearing <me>. Not properly. Not yet.§ §I always could, <Carmen/Chosen of Light>. <Lilian> can't, unless <she> 'stares into the Well'; that place of <inverted possibilities>, so of course <I> can. Neither you nor <I> are 'around', after all. Only a <shadow> can touch a <shadow>.§ Navigating around the fractures-- the seams in the picture-- is deceptively difficult, after having only even seen them for a split second. It takes a functionally eidetic memory to do it alone. It's so easy, too, to think you've succeeded. That it doesn't bother you. It doesn't touch you. You can reach and explore around it just fine. The effects of the slightest misstep are so subtle, so numbpainless that it's easier to notice how bad they are after they've already built up, rather than as they happen. It's so easy not to notice for too long that you're missing a clean section of a loose sleeve. That you've lost a lock of hair without realizing it, impossible to find again. The places where your physicality brushes the hidden cracks that pervade every space,every thought, shave away little parts of you with impossibly clean cuts; invisible, pleasantly ignorable whittling of life and limb, where it touches things that never happened.
Lilian Rook	§Bold. But we'll see about that. Someone else who isn't here made it her life to prove it, after all.§ she says to Haru. §But you know, <'Era'>, your 'society' has something like a <will to be born>, too. It's made up of all the individual <trace elements/stray sparks> of people's <wills that weren't willed>. When humans gather, 'society' <yearns to come into being>. In that way, it spreads its own <branches/ways of being> for people to climb along; without fighting <gravity/weight> so much; true! But in that same way, it limits them so much, doesn't it? They struggle so badly, to <fork twigs from branches>. Forming a <branch> from the <trunk> is much different. Never mind growing a <trunk> from <roots>, or spreading <roots> from a <seed>. Society is inevitable, but it makes the shapes of humans a kind of 'inevitable' too, doesn't it?§ §Mm~ Listen to me getting carried away. You're more special than you let on, you know that?§ Behind the counter, as promised, something waits for Stanley and Charlotte. Unfortunately, only one something; a little asymmetrical, two halves cut and pressed as close to perfectly down the middle as can be. A lily bud on a blue tablecloth. One half an act of heated rejection against a cold and frozen world, from two people, makes for one warm memory. A special allowance; a line-skipping pass; to the two who belong by defaulthave the skein of their lives entangled in Neon City. Sticking talismans over extinguished lights seems, perhaps, a little silly. Wallpapering over a malfunction-- a fundamental and permanent lacking-- so that one doesn't have to look at it. Like everything else. But that's not quite what happens. When the last talisman is in place, the crystal starts to suffuse with a different colour of warmth. The soft, rosy glow certainly comes from within, pushing back the deep shadows. But it wasn't the original. It belongs, but it's a little different from before. Like fixing a seam with gold lacquer. §You're so sweet; as always, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>. So I'll let you in on a secret, okay?§ It can't really be a secret just for her if everyone can hear it, but she sounds too eager to give it to be stopped. §It's so perfect that you'd do <in metaphor> what you always do for <'Lilian'>. Every time you light up a missing part, I gain a <new contour/nuance/aspect of shape> too; I'm a <shadow/inverse/negative> after all.§ The soft static of silence stretches especially long. When her voice comes back, it finally clicks into place which missing note changed the tone of the harmony, because something very close to it comes back. A kind of quiet reservation; the limit of the kind of passive tension that she can conceive of, in doing her best to communicate something carefully. What's missing is Lilian's vocal 'edge'. The perpetual spectre of immaculately managed, inescapable stress. Her protective disinterest, her sighing tolerance, the little architectural creaks and squeals of someone holding up too much weight; hearing Lilian's way of speaking come so lightly, freely, is what makes it 'Lilian-but-not's. The true breadth difference suddenly slides into focus, with that comprehension. Exigent Serenity always sounds so happy. She always sounds so actualized carefree. She always sounds so frightening. She always sounds so dangerously impossible to understand.
Lilian Rook	§There are a few like <me>. You've heard their <names/shapes>, haven't you? But I'm sorry to say that <children of roots> aren't that much different. Even <I>, just like <'Lilian'>, came into existence <fighting for air/red in tooth and nail>. Just like <her>, I feel the <hatred of the world> always passively wanting to undo me. Only in inverse. A <void> that wants to pull apart and dissipate, instead of a <weight> that wants to crush and smooth out.§ For once, Touta feels Exigent Serenity focus on him with something like genuine interest. He can't see her, or feel her gaze, but the way she sounds lacks her usual carefree amusement of watching an interesting bug and thinking about pulling its legs off. §'Sun' and 'dirt'. That one wasn't bad, 'Touta Konoe'. Think a little further, though. What happens to branches that bask in the sun? And what happens to a tree stripped of its branches?§ Petra becomes cleanly aware of something she was struggling to gasp the instant blood splashes from her inner arm and a moment's errant twitch threatens to take it right off. Stumbling forward into that darkness, blindly and ecstatically, through all the lines marking where all of this has been broken and put back together, over and over and over again, always a little more flawed than before, but trying so hard to hide it, and look perfect is exactly how she will kill herself. Heady as the rush of being special enough for two flowers is, the unignorable truth is that those fractures love no one. §Keep trying, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>~ <Receiving> and <growing> aren't wrong. But 'roots' are other things too, aren't they? If 'branches' are <possibilities> to you, then . . . ?§ §There are a few like <me>. You've heard their <names/shapes>, haven't you? But I'm sorry to say that <children of roots> aren't that much different. Even <I>, just like <'Lilian'>, came into existence <fighting for air/red in tooth and nail>. Just like <her>, I feel the <hatred of the world> always passively wanting to undo me. Only in inverse. A <void> that wants to pull apart and dissipate, instead of a <weight> that wants to crush and smooth out.§ For once, Touta feels Exigent Serenity focus on him with something like genuine interest. He can't see her, or feel her gaze, but the way she sounds lacks her usual carefree amusement of watching an interesting bug and thinking about pulling its legs off. §'Sun' and 'dirt'. That one wasn't bad, 'Touta Konoe'. Think a little further, though. What happens to branches that bask in the sun? And what happens to a tree stripped of its branches?§ Petra becomes cleanly aware of something she was struggling to gasp the instant blood splashes from her inner arm and a moment's errant twitch threatens to take it right off. Stumbling forward into that darkness, blindly and ecstatically, through all the lines marking where all of this has been broken and put back together, over and over and over again, always a little more flawed than before, but trying so hard to hide it, and look perfect is exactly how she will kill herself. Heady as the rush of being special enough for two flowers is, the unignorable truth is that those fractures love no one.
Lilian Rook	§Keep trying, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>~ <Receiving> and <growing> aren't wrong. But 'roots' are other things too, aren't they? If 'branches' are <possibilities> to you, then . . . ?§ The doors aren't hard to open, once they're carefully navigated to. The rope can be unwound by hand. The handles are unlocked. A similar, louder clack, a slight, glassy scraping in place of a bell-jingle, mark the opening of inner doors, and the space beyond is completely different. Further away fron Neon City, deeper into wherever this is, the facade of old city normality bleeds away with the fading setting of 'theatre'. A roof soars high and vaulted above you, without a light fixture to be seen, and beyond a baroque black iron railing, the floor drops away down a breathtaking height, far beyond sight. A carpeted spiral staircase rings the entire room, corkscrewing down as far as you can see, forming a helix pattern with dark diagonal markings along the circular walls, lined with countless hundreds, maybe thousands, of varnished doors down every twelve steps. You can only see any of it at all because of the titanic mirror-black steel tree growing up the entire gargantuan height of the chamber, each branch splitting by fractals and spirals, not organic forks, laden with brilliantly luminous §gems/embers/wishes/apples of eden§. The dim lighting presents the illusion that they almost float. A redshifted galaxy grown from roots and blossomed from branches There's an invisible updraft, here. Like the ash and soot is gently blown up from below. The air is warm, like bare skin, heated breath, freshly spilled blood, and angry tears; comforting, cloying, and stinging in equal measure. §To 'want to exist', before you can, you have to be capable of awareness that you don't.§ Exigent Serenity says. The speakers are even clearer in here. §Knowing, feeling, 'you don't exist', and 'you haven't been born', is the most painful thing in the world. That's why you <children of branches> don't usually have to think about it. <'They'> <designed/wove> your <physical law> so you'd be free of that. You live in <'their'> <utopic vision>; how lovely for you!§ As you look, the door closest to the entrance is marked with black iron numerals; they're made of individual metal fragments, actually, just barely visible that they're welded together with-- The numbers on this door are 504576951. The next door down is 739939680. They're all like this. §I can explain it to you. To all of you. But if I do, you have to promise me a favour, okay? No takebacks~ If you try to run away without paying me back, I'll kill you, hahaha~!§
Stanley Padgett	The bud, the lily petal, on the blue cloth. Stanley's eyes widen, and he looks to Charlotte. Only one, but sliced in two. He takes a breath, and then reaches down to pick up the little cloth. He's careful not to touch the lily just yet. Don't want to use it too soon, at this point. He presses the bundle into Charlotte's hands, and coughs, feeling the blood. The dust. The scratching at the walls inside of him. "You hold onto this, if it all goes to shit, I can trust you to get me out." He bites his lip, and efforts another healing pulse into himself, staunching the blood for a few more moments. Haru gets a look though, as he starts to puzzle things out loud. "...It is a little weird that Adachi didn't seem to be affected like the rest of us, or at least... he didn't play his part in all this?" Stanley shoves a hand through his dusty colored hair, and follows the group as the way is opened and the next chambers are revealed. And then he stops, and looks up and up and up. At the tree, sprouting infinite gems and splendor and wishes. A sudden wash of dread suffocates him, and he stammers. "Oh this is.... dire. Pretty, but... If those are all real, this might be the source of all the Wishes?" Stanley's eyes rake across the room. "All waiting to ripen and be plucked. Harvested. Shaken off the branches?" He hesitates at the foot of the infinite staircase, and presses a hand to the closest door, feeling over the metal numbering.
Charlotte Newman	What waits behind the counter isn't something Charlotte expected. Letting go of Stanley's hand, she stares down at the neatly bisected little flower bud, a neutral expression on her face. When she reaches out, it is instead to touch the fine cloth it rests on with just the tip of her finger. This wasn't her... It was him..? But why? How would-- As she withdraws her hand, the neutral look on her face becomes a defeated, downcast expression, staring at the floor, "I don't deserve this." When Stanley tries to give them to her, she glances sidelong, away from him, "I didn't earn any kindness from her. You can take them, Stanley, I deserve to go through this." Charlotte turns away, suppressing another choked cough as she hurries to catch up; navigating the cracks as best she can and at least making it to the staircase room without losing any limbs. Once there, she steps forward more slowly, resting her hands on the railing and peering down. Turning her head, she glances up. Just as endless in either direction. "I think you might be right," CHarlotte murmurs, following the tree's fractal branches as far as she can see, "Is this the... 'engine'? The wound that Exigent Serenity... that Lilian was holding closed? If that's right, then these must be..." Fumbling, Charlotte produces her phone, thumbing through apps. The Reversal game launches. But this time, she slides into the Settings to check her account's ID code and compare that to what's on the doors.
Angela	Angela can't quite look at Touta from her position but she can hear him coughing. Almost saying something--can she tell it was aimed in her direction? She isn't sure. She doesn't say anything to him. If it's important, he'll speak even if it's while choking on blood right? Mikey and Baba wave a bit to Petra--waving off the assistance of petals. Well Mikey does, anyway. He has no idea of what Petra is thinking but he does think it might be a bit dangerous to go handing those petals around. Will he change his mind if he actually starts dying? Will he even realize before it's too late? Angela looks to Petra, her eyes half opening at that 'everyone'. She has minutes to notice that shift in expression, even in here, even while distracted. Can she be as comfortable with being hated? She thinks so. Her issue with the way people hate her is rarely about the things she has chosen to do but rather what has been chosen for her. She is restrained, like a forsaken murderer. Is the metal in her head why her voice isn't as beloved? "It may be a long time before I can hear you properly." Angela admits to Exigent. "This is as close to leaving as I can get to right now." She doesn't think about whether the end will even really be her escape. She doesn't think about the idea of being stuck there even after the job is done. Was peaceful slumber intended to be what waits for her, or nothing at all? "I am sorry if I'm ... imposing on a private connection. I am curious about you because she has been so kind to me." Reminded her of something taken from her she didn't know was missing. Angela's teeth ache with the sweet memory. The King in Yellow shudders at the gluttonous memory. No. It is important to want. Society prefers that you want only to an acceptable threshold. It's up to you whether you're suffocating or not. Maybe, Angela thinks, I am not too far away to be affected. I've just been choking on my blood all this time. Carmen seems thrilled to have a conversational partner. Especially one who is in a whole other universe. That's exciting. A mind that can reach that far out is exciting to her. Or maybe it isn't reaching that far at all. After all, this is at least ''a'' Collective Unconciousness. The researcher in Carmen can't help herself. Different worlds, different rules, different expressions--but the collective unconciousness persists...even if the surface is shaved away in some places. Even if the trees are larger. Do you think my voice will reach past the City someday, like yours? Neither you nor I are 'around', after all. Only a shadow can touch a shadow. It always should have been me. It could only have ever been me. My mistake wasn't cutting my wrists, it was not cutting them sooner. But I trust Lilian and Petra when they say this will be the last full loop. Once the seeds are planted, I'll be a shadow that can love them, touch them even if they can't touch me. ...... It's natural isn't it? To be afraid? It's almost dissapointing if they aren't. Angela looks through the screen like staring at one of those magic eye puzzles. ''Knowing, feeling, 'you don't exist', and 'you haven't been born'.'' "The Knowing I." Angela murmurs. When Exigent Serenity demands a favour. "Understood. What is the favour?"
Friz	Haru has questions. He asked: "What would that be?" "I don't know. That's the problem. I... have a way of knowing a direction. A vague idea of where to go. A loose 'where', but no 'what' or 'why', definitely no 'how.' But I know 'where' is here somewhere." He asked: "Did you see how she reacted when Adachi violated her ground rules and I stepped in?" "Believing strangers will be kind ends up with being let down. Believing strangers will be unkind ends up with looking like something that isn't human, right where they can see." Friz thinks aloud. "But... the contradiction isn't a problem for her. I don't think the contradiction was, really, ever any kind of problem. She can make it someone else's, if she tries, but it'll never be hers. The will to live before life... Do you think, maybe, it has something to do with her understanding of what kindness is? Kindness and life are interlinked. Woven together. A refusal to play the game of expecting or rejecting kindness from us in the first place and demanding survival itself from the world..." She squeezes her eyes closed tight. Like she almost has grasped an idea. "...Almost had it. But no." She mutters. "ES is right. It's not for me to grasp. Not like this..."
Friz	"Know for a fact it's not the contradiction that's a problem." The gruffer phantom speaks tensely. "She's not the one with the wound here, we are. She's the one who... Hell. I can't get this either. But there's no knot to undo, no denial to untangle. We're not solving this, she's solving it and it's up to us whether we help or not." His phantasmal wound is starting to show, if one looks out of the corner of their eye at the blurry shape of a man with a gunshot wound. This decay is hitting him worse than he lets on. The fractures are hitting him even more. It's not until he tries to bring the cigarette up that he realizes his neck's got a slice wide along it. He nearly bumps his own head off. "Fuck." He swears in a panic. Friz keeps getting blood on her every time she adjusts them at this point. Cuts... somewhere. She can't tell. That part's too busy with other things. When ES gives an offer, Friz speaks up. "Tempted to explain why I would, but... This time, maybe it's better to leave that understanding unspoken. I don't think you'll kill us, because I don't think we'll withhold a favor. I think I need to know some survival before I walk down into this wound, though." "So please explain it all to me." "We'll promise a favor."
Stanley Padgett	"Goodness. I'm not sure I agree with that." The crisp words of Delilah, as she patiently waits at the base of the staircase, looking up and up. "I have no particular issues with not 'being born'. Having a start or finish is just something that Guests and Patrons worry about." The Attendant's golden eyes glimmer in the light of the tree, of all those Apples of Eden, and she just smiles, ignoring everything else in the room.
Kukuru	Kukuru's feeling pretty good about catching the tree imagery, even if she doesn't quite realize it until Exigent Serenity explains it to her and Angela? No, someone else speaks of seeds and voices. She's also feeling particularly good about Haru confirming that feeling she had about the dirt and grime, and Touta connecting Tamamo's comparison to the sun with the hidden dirt helps her piece things together. Not completely, of course, since there's simply too much for Kukuru to fully grasp it all just yet, but... That's still more than the nearly nothing she had started with alone, and she latches onto all of it as best she can. Her hand instinctively starts to close around her flower bud, but she pauses to give it a little peek instead and relaxes her grip when she notices that one of the petals has already turned fully black. That significance is lost on her, of course, and she also has her thoughts occupied again once Exigent Serenity addresses her directly. "Not wrong, but not quite there either... I'm getting better, then." Kukuru takes the partial victory with a light chuckle, but still has that thoughtful look on her face as she keeps mulling it over in her head. She's tempted to take a seat right on the floor just to try drawing it out with little scratches on the floor, but she stays right where she is instead and struggles right in her head. "So being sisters... No. Twins. You're both alike as children of... Roots, right? Not branches like everyone else, but... Roots. And if the wood is carved away so only the roots are left... The new branches that grow from there would be different, right? " Kukuru's visibly straining just to try and comprehend it at all. "Hacking away the... Destiny? That would've gotten decided by they. Um. Them. Other people. Then that desire to be born from before..." She rubs her temples. "Was... Wanting your branches to be closer to your roots?" She looks hopeful again, then furrows her brow in confusion. "But you're not trees, so you don't have wood or bark..." Getting fixated on the tree comparison a little too literally, Kukuru finally starts continuing around those fractures. She keeps her hands out for anyone that wants to hold onto her, both to provide physical and emotional support for the group while also making it a little easier to maneuver by following others' leads. She's too oblivious to even realize that part of her sleeve is gone, that some of her hair is coming off, that little nicks and cuts are forming on her, so focused as she is on trying to understand. She wants to understand Lilian. She wants to understand Exigent Serenity. As difficult as it is, Kukuru feels lighter the more she thinks she starts to grasp these pieces, and with following the sound of Exigent Serenity's voice even as she sounds less like Lilian, yet more like...
Kukuru	... Oh. That's what it is. Kukuru's always wanted to hear Lilian speaking like this. To sound less guarded, to sound less disinterested, less professional, less exhausted. More like what Exigent Serenity sounds like now, if only their choices in what to/not do were switched to protect something. No, not something. Someone. Herself, from the heaviness of the world she had spoken to.. Angela? No, someone else, someone she doesn't know, but perhaps more knowledgeable than she could ever hope to be. It feels so much harder to breathe now, once she starts to get just how little she actually understands. Wiping at her face with her sleeve, Kukuru inhales sharply to clear up her sinuses, then looks up at the door with the strange numbers she definitely doesn't understand. "I.. I'm sorry, Exis. I'm sorry, Lili. I still don't get it. I just know I wanna get it, so... So I promise! I'll-" Kukuru inhales again, finds her nose backed up, then pulls out a wadded up tissue to blow her nose into before exhaling deeply. "I'll listen as long as it takes. I'll get it, and then of course I'll pay you back. F-for both of you!" Kukuru steps up to the door, then stares at the numbers. She most certainly is not going to get that part, even if she stares at it for eternity.
Hamada Haru	@ People are special. @ Even if they're usually disappointing. @ But I don't think it's wrong. @ To build so that nobody has to individually have that will. @ And I suppose that does bottleneck things a little. @ Does it matter if your template changes are brought about only by rare individual wills? @ That could be called 'history'. //You're more special than you let on...// Haru makes a discontented noise, audible to Friz, but without context. @ Yeah. Kind of an ego problem, though. //It is a little weird that Adachi didn't seem to be affected like the rest of us, or at least... he didn't play his part in all this?// "Not his show. Not his stage," he replies to Stanley, cryptically. //But I know 'where' is here somewhere.// Troublesome. Haru straightens up a little, produces his transteam gun, and materializes a couple of... hankerchiefs. He tucks one into a pocket, and passes the other to Friz after stowing his weapon. "'Where' being 'somewhere in here' in a place like this is like being told that Eden is somewhere in eternity. Wish I could help narrow it down." "We can safely lose a little under eight hundred millileters of blood before symptoms start kicking in. How much would you say we've lost by now?" He asks. Evidently the hankerchiefs are for the blood. //The will to live before life... Do you think, maybe, it has something to do with her understanding of what kindness is?// "I've thought a lot about the things that we've talked about and which are around us. I think I understand things about her better than she's always comfortable with. But I don't think that's one of them, and I don't want to take stabs in the dark about that, or her," he admits. //I can explain it to you. To all of you. But if I do, you have to promise me a favour, okay? No takebacks~ If you try to run away without paying me back, I'll kill you, hahaha~!// @ I don't mind reciprocity. @ But why frame it that way?
Tamamo	'If those are all real, this might be the source of all the Wishes?' "Would this not require this to have been here all along?" Tamamo asks Stanley. She's working on the impression of this place as being linked to Lilian, and Lilian to have not been linked to Lampport. Tamamo doesn't notice Petra moving ahead, focused as she is on what she's doing, but she does notice the girl's return. That mention of 'hating' and 'resonating' had rolled off, unclear as it had been, but the sight of fresh damage refocuses her attention. "Ware the dark." Petra's not bleeding that much, so she can do without healing for a while. §It's so perfect that you'd do <in metaphor> what you always do for <'Lilian'>.§ "Naturally," says Tamamo, as if it were really just the most natural thing the world, but good of anyone else to notice. "What was it you said of love? Two who have rebuilt themselves to match pace, to come together, locked without fatigue...? Ah, perhaps I have forgotten the words. That which I 'hear' is not quite what you 'said,' after all, but I have the gist of it, perhaps." One tall ear turns, as if to better catch the words. "I shall allow you to hear a wicked secret, then, in turn." Though it could hardly be that wicked, if she's not bothering to lower her voice to the point that someone standing close to her won't clearly hear it, and those standing further apart won't be able to listen in, if they choose to pay attention. "If I allow one to lean against me while I fill the cracks with my own color, will they not come that much closer, not to my own shape, but to its complement? That which I need, and which will complete the greater... 'paired system,' let us call it." It is entirely unclear, by any attempt to simply read her, how much of this is serious, and how much of it is esoteric flirting. "It is ultimately to my own selfish benefit to so shape and dye you, no?" The light is something new and changed. It's neither restored, nor replaced. That's significant, yet acknowledged only by her implicit approval of the result, rather than spoken aloud. Instead, she's only saying, "I could hardly do otherwise, given the opportunity." Traveling as carefully as she can around the seams still isn't careful enough, even for her, even with light and fortune to guide her. No blood is taken, but Tamamo-no-mae is predisposed to flowing clothing. As she lifts her arm, and notes where the silk has been sliced through -- and doesn't yet notice the missing lock of hair -- she asks, "Did you wish to emulate Dong Xian of the Han?" Rather than explaining the reference, she continues with, "Ah, no, never you mind. Another time." §But if I do, you have to promise me a favour, okay? No takebacks~§ "I could hardly be expected to refuse, now, could I? Not for 'Lilian, too,' however you should like to be called, within this place." Tamamo hasn't yet said 'Exis,' but she's thinking of it. "Ah, but as to that... Lilian would never take such a deal, now, would she? She would caution against anyone who asked for unnamed favors. She might even be upset with me, should I enter into such dealings. Just for that, perhaps, I should refuse, and continue down these stairs so long as I can... oh, but others cannot, of course." It's starting to get through to her the kind of state Mikey is in. "I suppose there is the one exception. 'Anything you wish.' There is one for whom, at least, she would say the words, and believe she meant them, even if the doing wore her edges, grinding deep beneath the surface." Now her voice really does drop low, barely audible, even to someone close and listening carefully. "I have been quite gentle, you know?"
Tamamo	And yet, she doesn't, in fact, immediately accept the request. Not before she has a chance to examine one of those doors more closely. The connections between things are her domain of specialty, and Tamamo takes these moments to trace the lines of the doors and the tree by means other than her limited sight.
Petra Soroka	Petra's EGO suit is sliced cleanly through as if it was cloth, blood from the razor wound below wicking off and sliding under the sleeve to drip from her hands rather than soaking in. Another traces its way up across her cheekbone, diagonally below her eye, wrapping around to nick her ear and-- Petra flickers and the momentum carrying her into the fractures is erased just before her hair is cut like her skin was. She stands there blankly staring, the cracks already faded from vision, and then belatedly steps back and presses her palm to her cheek. Blood sticks and spreads along the handprint, running into the lines of her palm, and she winces. "It hurts," is her neutral announcement to the others who hadn't wandered facefirst into the fractures, as if this was a calculated exploration with a useful result. She'd expected to get hurt, flowers or otherwise-- part of the allure of shattered things is how they draw blood when you run your finger along them carelessly-- and if Petra was afraid of being hurt by the broken angles that didn't love her, then she wouldn't be able to tolerate being hurt by the ones that do. But on the other hand... All the ways I got hurt only ever made me worse, and you don't deserve to steal what I made from the pieces! Petra, standing by Tamamo, wavers when looking at the empty space above the blood-wet carpet. She resolves to be a little more careful with the fractures. Tamamo being praised for lighting up the darkness that Petra barged into and was wounded for doesn't go unnoticed either, and she holds that thought uncomfortably, not sure what to do with it. §<<Keep trying, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>~>>§ Yes ma'am. Ideas in Petra's brain stir with flayed and rearranged concepts from Lilian, desperately pattern-matching to try to contribute properly. "I can think of... roots being the invisible origin for all the nutrients of the whole tree. Drawing in from outside and anchoring the trunk. Branches are the parts that grow, using the stuff the roots collect, but... only in a straight line from what's already been grown." Like a begrudging thanks we give to people who push the meter forward. Layered in all of Petra's interpretation of the metaphor is an assumed condescension towards the allegory of the branches, that the §children of the branches are meant to be understood as contemptible. §You've moved from the <tip of the branch> closer to the <trunk>§. Petra is struck completely breathless by the tree. Eyes open wide and drink in the gleaming red galaxy, lips parted to breathe the air against the back of her throat, coating her with the sensation. Her spear is totally forgotten, hand hanging down by her side and residual blood trailing down her knuckles to roll all the way to the spearpoint. "We're really in deep, aren't we...."
Petra Soroka	§<<Knowing, feeling, 'you don't exist', and 'you haven't been born', is the most painful thing in the world.>>§ "Yeah... it is." Still dazed and awestruck, and maybe a little woozy from bleeding and submerging herself in Exigent Serenity's influence, the words fall out of her mouth without even needing to consider them. "Wanting to want to chase after actualization means confronting how everything about you fails to reach it. Suddenly being... hyperaware of how constrained every choice and feeling has ever been, boundaries the moment you were born. Before. Realizing that the walls are there just shows you how much smaller and weaker you are than them." "It's not really that different, what you said earlier. Crushed and smoothed versus being pulled apart and dissipated. They're both oblivion. I get it. The void and the weight both hurt." Petra shakes her head, finally tearing her eyes off of the tree. She reaches up to touch her green-orange EGO gift in her hair, fingers brushing along the stinging line on her cheek and bringing prints of blood along with them. Utopia fucking sucks, haha. §<<But if I do, you have to promise me a favour-->>§ "That's okay! I can do you a favor. That's no problem." Petra practically leaps at the chance to be useful on this mission, particularly useful to Exigent Serenity herself. The possibility of being given a task has her nearly jumping up to accept it, regardless of what it is, because that's so much easier than trying to understand a metaphor, and proves that she's paying attention and cares just as much.
Touta Konoe	If there's no question that needs to be answered, then a remark likely isn't important enough to be said. So with the lack of need from Angela, there's not much that Touta needs to offer. The words he offers are just possibilities that are never said. Things that could have been more but never were rooted. They are words that were never willed into existence Unlike the fractures, to which even if only appearing in a single moment, their existence while unseen leaves its impact, there's very little that Touta does to avoid them. The first cut, while not painful, is the stealing of a finger at the bottom knuckle. Though, even if he was aware...It would never be enough to make him worry. He might call out to warn the others if he was aware, but for his one sake...One might question if he'd consider if he'd deserve help And it's as he thinks of help, does he find Tamamo placing that Talisman up. The response of color, almost like a new sense of warmth. Even before Exigent Serenity finally speaks of it again, he receives a proper reminder of this place and Lilian. The act alone leaves him a smile that he forces through even as the sensation of another coughing fit comes through. He holds it down... It's as he smiles though, does for once he hears her focus come back to him. It's not even the interest that surprises him, but the acknowledgement itself. Even her advice, and the question that follows start to have him perhaps overthinking even. "A branch basking in the sun will keep growing till it eventually falls..." The words stifle for a moment, focusing upon the words told to others. Of what one could consider the forking of twigs from branching, to the difference between growing a genuine branch from a tree, to the roots that lingered beneath being something else entirely... "A tree that was stripped of all its branches? It depends, I think...If it's strong enough, if its roots are sturdy, maybe eventually it'll grow new branches in place of the old ones. But otherwise, it loses all possibilities. A tree without /any/ branches will wither." As if the tree, or the branches themselves needed the will to be born? That even with a trunk, and roots, if there's no potential to grow, was it similar to having no will to be born...? "..." As they finally make it to the doors, Touta's found himself losing a ring finger this time, a piece of his ear, a cut into the side of his waist, and one into his thigh, though numbed pain, through coughed up blood, his thoughts are on something else. The sound of glassy scraping causes loud clacking, it's then does he mumble something. "Back home...We say that no one should have to live while thinking they deserve to die...I wonder if that 'want to exist' that comes from a will to be born, is the same kind of will that keeps wanting to exist after the fact, even when it feels like existence finally wants them snuffed out?" The thought originally meant to be rhetorical in nature, though hearing Exis' answer might be interesting. Ultimately, it's just a question brought about from a mild connection. Not a coherent understanding of that will, or of the branches and roots. It's more of a semblance perhaps. An understanding of something in the same way that someone might perhaps know a similar word, with a similar nature, yet incapable of grasping the genuine article.
Touta Konoe	§I can explain it to you. To all of you. But if I do, you have to promise me a favour, okay? No takebacks~ If you try to run away without paying me back, I'll kill you, hahaha~!§ It was almost kind of funny. It was only earlier when there was the question of whether he was beyond help. That thought still lingers in the back of his head now. It raised the question, 'At which point did someone truly become beyond help?' When they no longer could help another? When they couldn't help themselves? The answer he comes closest to after the time he's been allowed to think on it is...When that feeling of not deserving to exist finally overcame you, when that 'will to be born' simply faded into another possibility. So as he's asked whether he'll accept that favor or not one final thing comes to mind. He looks back to the sight of Haru and Friz leaning upon one another, how Charlotte and Stanley leaned upon each other throughout this ordeal, and those words that were said... <She> is a little like <I>, and <I> am a little like <her>, because we both leaned on each other, to survive. We took a little of one another to make our <will to be born> real. p to this point, E.S.'s intrigue is the only thing that's garnered her attention to Touta. Otherwise, her fascination was simply like that of the bug you'd tear the legs off of. So one might wonder what sort of response might be given if any, when that bug, littered with lacerations across his frame from the fractures, still stands. As a smear of dried blood lingers at the side of his lip, with a voice that tries to be as clear as can be while choking back blood gives her request the answer. "You can lean on me..."