oo1 ✦ let’s begin.

[richesse]

[ There’s a whisper through the murmur, more a breath of feeling than a fully formed thought. It’s sweet, and warm, and laughing—though it is not gentle, nor kind.

A voice follows the whisper, chased by darkness and shadows, the very suggestion of a nightmare. ]

Do you think we’re still dreaming? Or is this a living nightmare?

[ a hum, and another brush of teasing laughter, there and gone like a brief burst of memory, the last moment of summer that you can taste on your tongue before it’s irretrievably gone. ]

You’ve changed, haven’t you? We all have. What are you thinking, right now…? Who are you?

What are you?

Comments

[sculptedash]

Ohhhhh man.
I was really hoping we were dying.

That wouldn't have been too much to ask for, right?

[It's kind of hard to tell from her voice if she's being serious or not.]

[richesse]

How macabre of you. You’d prefer dying to living like this?

[sadpoem]

[Lortel has questions, all pertinent, but Sunny doesn't answer them. He's too distracted by her familiarity, a yank on some invisible line that tethers the two of them together. When's the last time he saw Lortel? It was within that dream, and this, a new dream, far too waking...

[He reaches out, sunlight, the rays barely brushing at her skin, curious and timid; Hello.]

[richesse]

[ Oh.

It’s him. That boy. The one she…

It wasn’t a dream. Or if it was—it was one they both shared.

From Lortel’s end comes a burst of embarrassed heat, something she wishes she could hide. ]

Sunny.

[ hmm. ]

I missed you.

[closetdweller]

Sorry, sis. I'm pretty sure this ain't a dream.

[The voice was casual on the surface- a placid display compared to the rumbling currents that hid below the surface.

Urushihara was far from neutral in this matter. His wings he had expected, after drinking that potion of celestial magic disguised as an energy drink. 'Holy Vitan Beta' was stronger than he thought, except--]

The air smells different. You don't notice that kinda thing in dreams. As for everything else? Uh...

[His hair was white.

It hadn't been white in centuries. He hated it.]

I'm in the market for a hoodie if anyone's got one.

[richesse]

Doesn’t it feel too strange to be real? I agree with you, though.

[ there’s a ripple of sweet laughter through the murmur, a feeling like a nudge. ]

I’ve been exploring looking for warmer clothes. Should we go together?

[merged]

[ The thoughts and feelings that drift through the Murmur unsettle her, and her reaction is an instantaneous recoil. Anger, fear, disgust. Is it the suggestion of a nightmare or the teasing laughter that's gotten beneath her skin? ]

Fuck off. [ The response is unfiltered and unintentional. The feelings soften immediately as if she recognizes that others can hear her. ] Who are you? [ But her own name lingers in her question. Sharon, her name is Sharon. ]

[richesse]

[ warm, haunting laughter skulks in the shadows of the murmur. disgust is met with the suggestion of a smile. ]

Just a girl. Someone looking for answers, just like everyone else.

[shatteredlenses]

[What are you, indeed.]

I'm blind.

[There's an amused, warm sarcasm that follows the words. Ignis knows most people would probably be put off by the sensations that come through with Lortel's questions, but he remembers when he met her in the dream, and right now in amongst all this unfamiliar darkness, hers is welcome.]

I'll be most cross with you if you've forgotten my name. I do owe you a debt after all.

[richesse]

Ignis!

[ there’s a beaming, cheery warmth that meets his voice. sincere gladness that would be impossible to fake. there’s a slight shiver of relief, too—for she is not alone. ]

It’s true. I’ll keep that favor, for now. I’d like to trade it in when it suits me best, you see.

Are you alright?

[walriders]

I've experienced a living nightmare before. Not sure how this place compares just yet.

[ Is it weird as hell here? Absolutely. But Miles is still in figuring out mode, trying to learn as much as he can in a place that doesn't seem to want to be learned about. Perhaps he just hasn't looked hard enough yet though. ]

I'm Miles. Human, right now. [ But the twinges echoing through his body as he "speaks" speak otherwise. Not unlike the Walrider, his unnatural possessor, scraping its way through him trying to claw free. ]

Who are you?

[richesse]

Have you? What was that like, hm?

[ Human, right now.

Is he? Is anyone? How quaint. Amusement thrums beneath the whispers of the murmur. ]

Just a lonely girl looking for answers.

[sorte]

[ it's so familiar in nature that he almost feels like he's listening to himself, it pricking at every inch of his skin as her words distill into the essence of this experience, surrounding him completely while being nowhere at all.

at first, he only listens, lets the wave pulses of others responding encircle him as he steeps in them. He doesn't know how to escape it or what it even truly is, but he knows well enough that if he tries to hard to push it away, that it will most likely encroach upon him further somehow rather than simply submerse him in the center of it all with the rest of them here. Finally, he reaches out... his words sharp with an amusement sharper than a blade. ]

I'm simply thinking... what a beautiful little fox you must be as the owner of such a silver tongue.

1/2

[richesse]

[ did he just call her beautiful? ]

[richesse]

[ a brilliant and blooming warmth suffuses the murmur, a faint but noticeable delight threading through her amusement. how utterly charming. ]

Flatterer. You must say that to all the girls. I won’t be taken in by such tricks, you know.

[ despite the murmur indicating that she absolutely is taken with it. ]

[offseers]

Why don't you start us off?

[richesse]

Noah!

[ she chirps his name, sweet and glad to see him. well, “see,” after a fashion. ]

Always so guarded. What’s wrong with an innocent question?

[pointedlook]

[ The whisper is warm, sticky sweet, and underneath, he feels as though there's something sharp; taffy lined with razor blades and ready to draw blood at the first taste.

Still. Knowledge is knowledge. And knowing who he's surrounded by is all part of necessary research. ]

It's a dream. [ Unlike her demeanor, which seduces and chills in turn, he's the soaring, parallel lines of modern architecture. That austere, matte perfection of white marble. ] The better question is: who's the dreamer?

[ Because none of them dream the same, not even under the effects of Somnacin. He dreams and builds practical, steady things. Cobb, when he still did the mazes, left a more contemporary finishing on his builds.

At any rate: ] I'm thinking that I'd like to know what a Vessel is supposed to be. What purpose it's supposed to serve.

[ Under stainless steel girders and plate glass windows, there's scuffs on the poured concrete. Oil stains and a smattering of scorch marks. A stamped out cigarette, still smoking from the ash. ]

[richesse]

[ Lortel takes a breath. This pristine, white wall… she wants to press a hand to it, to see if it will give beneath her touch. brightly amused curiosity coils around him, a snare, a safety harness. guard and guile alike. ]

You’re so unfazed. I’m truly impressed. What makes you so certain we’re dreaming?

[ she leaves aside the question of vessels—only for now, wondering at the feeling of her own tail flicking. ]

[potentialman]

If we were dead, this would make more sense.

[ The longer this goes on, the less likely it seems that he's just stuck in a dying hallucination, and that opens up so many new (and unpleasant) questions. ]

[richesse]

[ a tinkling laugh. ]

You’re not the first person to say that. How funny. As if death would be preferable, somehow.

So what do you believe is happening, then?

[unaliveyourself]

[It had been strangely quiet, since he'd "woken", the silence in his mind heavy, loud, not the true emptiness he's been searching for. The return of the Murmur almost feels like a relief. He reaches for the familiar voice he hears in it like a drowning man thrown a life preserver.

His answer has the feeling of nails against fabric and flesh, like being grabbed with intensity. Red half moons to be left in their aftermath. It does not at all match the softness of his voice.]

Hello again, Lortel-chan. We talked a little of this before.

[About dreams and reality, whether they are alive or dead. He doesn't seem displeased to revisit it, though. Indeed, there's almost a childish eagerness. An artwork put up on the fridge.]

...It's a funny question to ask, though. True, objective "reality" is nothing more than piles of structured matter, molecules arranged in emergent patterns. Ascribing "blue" to photons that have hit our retinas at a particular wavelength is no more inherently meaningful than stating a cloud happens to look like a rabbit.

[But despite the words, there's a sense of warmth to them. Comfort, like coming in from the cold and wrapping a blanket around yourself.]

Every thought and feeling you'll ever have in your life is its own little dream, unique to yourself. And at the end, you go back to sleep. There's something wonderful about that, don't you think?

[richesse]

[ her breathing stutters. nails. nails on her skin. all at once, where before there was nothing, there now stands an impossibly high wall, three feet thick and built from rejection. it is an absolute refusal. get off me. get off me.

she grits her teeth,

and blossoms into a full, fond smile. ]

Dazai~. I was hoping I would see you again.

[ … ]

You know… if my life has all been made up of little dreams, then I think I’d rather wake up.

[ the feeling of waking, but not fully. torn between consciousness and dreaming. chased by a nightmare, afraid to fall asleep again for fear it will find you in your stillness. you flicker there, suspended between, neither awake nor asleep, and the visions of the nightmare pound on the back of your skull.

one man’s treasure is another girl’s torture.

his warmth is killing her. she desperately wants to accept and utterly reject it in equal amounts.

a breath. ]

I don’t think it’s wonderful at all.

[vocalistyodels]

Well shit, why not a little of column A, little of column B?

[There's something about that shared bit of something... reminds him of life before the bombs, before everything went to shit. Sitting in the hot tub with Barb sipping drinks...]

Been a long time since I been to therapy, but don't remember it being like this.

[richesse]

You’d think therapy would be more peaceful.

[ smile, smile. ]

So what do you plan to do?

[snaggletooth]

[ Answering her is the sound of thousands of legs skittering in the dark. They crackle across the open connection like a much more perverse version of static. Ivan's been hearing them louder and louder lately. It's coming from inside of his skull, yet also from the cracks in the walls, from the spongy loam that spills out from between destroyed slabs of concrete. Broadcasting it is just the beginning of this unconsented link.

What he also can't hold back is the truth that was provoked, issued forth as a low roar without intonation.

ONE OF THEM, A PARASITE.



Ah, this stranger is kicking at ant hills, is she—? ]

You've chosen an interesting time to chat! It's a bit crowded in here at the moment; I have to apologize.

[richesse]

[ a breath. the murmur stirs, whispering in her ear, urging. umbra briefly obscures her. there’s a flash, and then gone, of irritated stress.

a parasite, hm?

well, she knows how to deal with infection. ]

Think nothing of it. We’re all a little different now, aren’t we? [ sweetly, warmly, smiling. ]

What is it like?

[spiritmonger]

[ The rush of sensation was almost overwhelming after being so long isolated. To be connected so unwillingly, so intimately... It's almost painful. It didn't help that he could almost smell the rot at the edges of her words; the nightmare chasing after summer's end reminding him of the heavy-handed punishments of his teenage mistakes.

A calm, tight voice finally replied, accompanied with faint under- and overtones of other languages: insectoid chittering in dry throats, slithering shadows rolling off tongues, whispers of the undead promising ancient secrets. ]

Does one necessarily forfeit the other?

My name is Nymnar Gloomstrider. I am as I have been. [ The words are a bit hollow: he's missing something he expected to regain, some piece of his soul he'd lost long before arriving here, and this is what he thinks about. ]

And whom - or what - is it that I am speaking with?

[richesse]

I don’t believe you.

[ she says it easily, straightforward; contradicts him about his own claim with a pleasant smile.

they’ve all been changed. she doubts this man has escaped. ]

Me? Why, I’m just a normal girl.

[untilldeath]

[What DOES he think of this place? A husk of a world. He wonders if this is what Earth is like now- a once-flourishing land now rotting and deserted, not really habitable except for the most extreme species.

Not that he knows. It's not like he's ever seen it. He only knows what he's heard or been taught by the teachings of their 'guardians' and the kindergarten.

He's almost got the trick down, of how to speak through the strange murmuring, without having to speak, persay. It comes out the same, words and images and sound forming. He isn't an expert, but this is infinitely easier than using his voice outside of this... strange network of connection. ]

I'm human.

[No matter what changes take place, no matter what happens, he stubbornly clings to that reality. He refuses to let his core be warped or changed into something unrecognizable. He needs to hold onto this. And he is human, even if he is... different. Even if bursts of light snap about him, and surges inside his chest rise and threaten release.

And lately. Lately, he feels a painful ache that is becoming all-consuming and difficult to ignore.... the need for connection, to find and reach someone. It buzzes through his head insistently, crossing the murmur. Fear courses along the current beneath it. Rejection, loss, and unfamiliarity freeze him like a deer caught in the headlights. He swallows down the surge, attempting to keep his mind calm to 'speak' clearly.

... And he wants to talk, he finds. Even though he can't say why. He doesn't want to be alone in his head, any more than he wants to be physically. And that is frightening, too.]

I don't know what this place is, though. I thought it was a dream.

[He should be dead, he thinks. Feelings of pain and blood, and a wound at his throat, swirling across the murmur.]

But... it keeps going. If it was just a dream, I wouldn't want to put myself here, either.

[richesse]

[ … is he talking … through their shared connection?

her mind flashes to Ignis, with whom she’d be able to trade images. could one talk entirely mentally?

interesting.

and what a sad, lonely presence this is…

in exchange, Lortel sends him a wash of warmth. reassurance. it’s okay. it’s okay.

I’m here. ]

Unfortunately for us, I think we’re all quite awake.

Are you alright?