sticksandbones | Dreamscape Player Plot

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Dreamscape Player Plot

MAY YOU FIND YOUR WORTH IN THE WAKING WORLD

INCEPTUS NOLANUS OVERRATUS

It happens without warning. You're enjoying yet another day, trapped under the ocean in a metal can, waiting to either escape or die, when a scream rings out. Strange, because it almost sounded like it was in your head. What happens next is a deathly silence, a ringing in the ears, and then suddenly reality shifts. Color drains from the world around you, time slowly crawls to a halt, and the cosmos holds it's breath.

A moment ticks by.

Reality exhales and the world bursts forth, warping your environment until it becomes something different, something new. Somewhere you definitely weren't before. Your greatest fantasy or your worst nightmare has come to life, and something has become increasingly apparent: You are not alone. Traverse your fears, your dreams, your secrets with whoever else wound up in this hell with you. Maybe together you can figure a way out, or a way to make it stop.

WE'LL MEET AGAIN SOME SUNNY DAY

While moving between dream to dream, a few things start to become apparent: Most, if not all, of the Sea Base has been affected. Every so often, certain edges of the dream will shift to look like a haunted looking old Victorian city. Despite that, before dreams get to be too bad, a lamp will appear with it's small attendants beckoning you over. Touching the lamp will send you either to a new dream, or to ...a house.

The house is empty, though it appears to be well lived in. There are personal affects littered all over, so if one is nosy enough, it will be easy to find things like pictures. Either way, it's a safe space for people to collect themselves in. There's sodas in the fridge, just don't mind the kitchen possums running around.

SPARK NOTES

OOC

Hello! Welcome to your Dreamscape plot! Have fun and be as self-indulgent or as terrible as you like, just be sure to tag your CW's appropriately! If you have any questions or concerns you are welcome to DM at [maplecoffe] or hit up my plurk

takatorabatta. a top level for the Moon Presence showdown will be in a top level below.

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[If there's one thing Wolfwood hates more than anything else, it's being told what to do.

So, then. What happens if he simply tries to ignore the voice?]

[The voice is painful to ignore, but it can be ignored, to a point. It simply gives the same direction, again and again and again, ceaselessly and without emotion. Patient, but insistent. Like a parent correcting a child.

But even with all the time in the world, the show must go on. The gods don't make requests of mortals.

He'll feel a sudden burning jolt through his body, and then—it is no longer his own. Wolfwood stands, and no matter how much he wants to resist, to scream, to do anything at all, he can do nothing but obey the will of something beyond his comprehension, feel its scalding will coursing through him and removing his own. Calmly, he walks towards the steps, to the stage. He takes his place. He bows, grateful, obedient. The theater applauds. Tiny white stars and faceless statues appear to fill the empty seats, whispering amongst themselves in an unknown language.

When he stands up straight, the force controlling him lets go. For now, anyway.

Anyway, a show is nothing without a proper script, right? A single page flutters down from the rafters above, settling perfectly into Wolfwood's hands. Unfortunately, this is not the script. Instead, all he gets is a black-and-white flyer for a bakery. It reads: "Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you almost as much as you LOAF our bread!!!"

...

The crowd is silent, but it feels like they're waiting for something. Well? You practiced your lines, right? This is your cue! Your shining moment! Break a leg!]

[Oh this is the actual worst outcome-

The way Wolfwood feels his body suddenly gripped and manhandled onto that stage feels exactly like how Bluesummers would do it. Using his minuscule threads, invisible to the naked eye, to manipulate and force one's body to contort against its will. And this truly is against his will with a similar pain to accompany it, but at least whoever is at the reigns here isn't forcing him to contort into positions his body can't handle, no matter how much he hates that it's happening regardless.

His expression is twisted into a scowl, his jaw set so tightly that it shakes, yet he follows the motions as dictated by the voice until he finally feels it free him, standing straight in the center of that stage amidst hundreds of onlookers.

He would have snatched that paper out of the air if it didn't fall into his hands like that, but he takes it regardless, eyes darting as he scans the contents. And- of course- it's nonsensical. It doesn't make sense for a play of sorts, and it certainly doesn't seem like something he should be saying, like he's a fucking ad before the show is meant to begin proper.

The paper crumples with the force of him clutching it. Yet, he continues to remain silent.]

[The crowd grows restless. Whispers, snickers, a growing wave of anticipating—if he's making them wait, then it must be something fantastic! It must be the act of the century! The greatest show in all the Universe!

... haha, yeah, no. Loop knows it's not. This guy isn't even an amateur, one minute in and he's already blowing it.

A star-headed person starts waving at him from off stage, out of view of the audience. Their stage-whisper carries even through the growing volume of the theater.]

What are you doing? Say something! Anything! Improvise!

Improvise?

[Oh, oops, he said that out loud. As in, loud enough for the people in the audience to hear, probably. The next time he speaks it'll be a little quieter, or at least an attempt at quiet.]

Are you fuckin' serious? Do I look like I even wanna be up here??

[Well. The audience does get quiet again, which probably isn't a reassuring thing. They're listening, they're listening, trying not to whisper too loudly, not when they want to hear the performance. Are the stars in the seats getting closer? Have the statues moved? Are there more of them? It's hard to tell.

Loop just looks frustrated. They bark out a laugh, channelling it all into bitter cheer instead.]

Tough luck! You're up here anyway!

What, is this material not good enough for you? Better start lowering those standards fast, princess, or we'll be standing here all day! Can't you see they're getting impatient?

[They are getting impatient. The room feels like it's shaking.]

[Yeah, the whole...atmosphere here sure is getting uncomfortable. But Wolfwood is a stubborn asshole, even if the way his body was puppeted up here like that makes him feel like he's going to die. If he does nothing, he imagines he'll just be stuck here forever. If he does read what he's been given, well, that's just letting this disembodied voice win. And we can't have that.

So he looks at the paper. Back to the audience. Back to the paper.

Balls it up and tosses it over his shoulder.]

So, I dunno what kinda show you people came to see, but you ain't gonna get one from me. Sorry to disappoint.

[The whispers grow louder again, sharp and disorganized. Muffled laughter and sobs in equal amounts, a few half-hearted boos from the back—they're restless, they're restless, but even stating it directly and plainly doesn't seem to clue them in. This is the show they came to see! So what if the start is a little slow? They're still here to watch something.

Loop is... also restless. This isn't literal, they've never been on a real stage, but—but they know what it wants. Stars, how could they not know? They've only watched this a few hundred times. They have half a mind to just shove Wolfwood aside and take the lead themselves, but

but they can't. They don't want to be here, either.

They're just going to wait and see how this blows up and make fun of him for it later.

A moment passes. Eventually, another page flutters down from the darkness above, settling neatly and easily into the lead's hands like the first... shortly followed by the crash of an inkwell shattering on the floor, and a fountain pen bouncing off his skull. That's what you get for putting on a shitty first act.

But okay, maybe comedy isn't in the stars tonight! How does Wolfwood feel about... poetry?]

Oranges are nice.
Oranges are soft.
Oranges are frail.
When you look at me I feel like one.
Your fingernail digs into my cheek.
Peel an orange open...

[...

There is a conspicuous blank space at the bottom. The crowd is, once again, holding their breaths in anticipation.]

[The crash makes Wolfwood jump a foot, and if he thought he were able to, he'd spin around to face where he heard it come from. But he can't, he's still rooted to the spot, but he can reach down and pick up that pen that clonked him on the head. Bitch.

He has this new paper in hand and takes the time to look it over as the audience looks on at him, expectantly. You know how they say you can't read words in a dream? Well, that certainly isn't the case here, but the writing is about as esoteric as one.

...fine. He decides to take the pen to paper, since that seems to be what he's being asked to do here. And in some cross between neat script and scrawling cursive, he writes:]

This is stupid.
And also nothing rhymes with orange.

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, you know. None of the other lines rhymed. [Loop is like ten feet away and definitely can't see the shit he wrote down, but it's their brain and that means they can critique from as far away as they want.

The crowd starts to murmur again. Sobbing, wailing, outrage, laughter—a crescendo of emotions, mixed together into chaos. There is significantly more booing this time around. The audience is, on average, not very happy.

Something snaps behind him. Like a rope pulled too taut, giving way, whipping up into the air...

and like before, his body is suddenly not his own. Wolfwood bows, low and deep, the shadow around him growing larger as the crowd continues to jeer. He cannot move an inch, can't even face his fate. The massive boulder crashes down on him all at once, bones crunching and popping and tearing through flesh, blood bursting out like a crushed pastry, an agonizing full-body pain that lasts a fraction of a second that feels like hours hours hours

it's pretty detailed. lots of experience at play, here, if a bit of exaggeration. it's all for the sake of the performance.

within the illusion of death, he feels a tug at his stomach, and]

[In the next instant, Wolfwood is sitting in front of a mirror in a small, dimly lit dressing room. Outside, he can hear the audience cheering and clapping. The walls muffle the noise.

He's uninjured, naturally. Phantom pains might linger for awhile longer, though.

Anyway, by "dimly lit" I actually meant Loop is here. Loop is what's lit, that's all you get. They stand cheerfully behind him, looking a little too peppy after watching a guy get crushed to death like five seconds ago.]

Wow, you really killed it out there, huh? Good job! You did it! Etcetera!

[Wolfwood has experienced unimaginable pain. He's been experimented on. He's been brought back from the brink of death, over, and over, and over. He's been forced to age rapidly, has been shot, burned, crushed. He's been through it. If there's a pain in this world to feel, he's felt it.

But this tops it all. Nothing can quite compare to being crushed so utterly, there one instant, gone the next. You'd think it would be so fast that he wouldn't even know what hit him, but thanks to the nature of the dream, it lingers. It makes him suffer, and by the time he comes to in front of that mirror, he's heaving for breath. His face is slicked with sweat, and his hands are white-knuckled on the arms of whatever chair he's sat in currently.

Loop's appearance doesn't bother him, mostly because he just went through that and he's still trying to recover and failing. Any other time maybe he'd have some smartass comment to give, but right now?]

What the fuck-!!!

Yeah, it is pretty fucked up. [thank u flamebringer for this gift of knowledge

... they do soften, though, at the understandable reaction to being crushed to death for the first time. It's kind of bad! They can relate. They let the cheery facade drop, just a little, so long as they're both here behind the stage.]

We have a few minutes. Take it easy, alright? Deep breath iiiiiin... and oooooout.

[They exaggerate the motion, giving him something to follow. They'll wait for him to calm down before trying anything else.]

[Wolfwood is...not doing a good job of breathing slowly. Every breath comes in a heavy pant, rapid and frantic, because he is admittedly having a hard time remembering his therapy in this moment. But can you blame him, truly? He just got crushed wholesale by a fucking boulder, he is going through it.

Eventually though, he catches his breath enough to look at Loop, his expression tight and guarded.]

Who are you? Where is this!?

[They can be patient. It's a role they're used to, even if Wolfwood isn't their usual charge. Loop sits on the edge of a nearby barrel, hands in their lap. Waiting very patiently for him to catch his breath.

And he does, eventually. Their own expression doesn't falter, eyes curved into curious moons.]

Getting right into it, I like that! You can call me Loop, I suppose. As for where...

[They hum, glancing around the room... honestly, looks more like a messy storage room than a dressing room. Aside from the mirror and chair, it's mostly stuffed with barrels and shelves and scraps of paper scattered around.]

Who knows! I don't think this place is real. Call it a star's intuition.

[There's a prolonged pause as Wolfwood considers their words. He doesn't trust them as far as he can throw them, given the next thing he says is:]

You mean t'tell me you didn't orchestrate all this shit?

[Ouch. This is also familiar, unfortunately. They try not to let it get to them.]

Do you always assume the first person you meet is the cause of all your problems? [nevermind, they deserve to get a little grouchy about it.] I tried to warn you what would happen. If I was the one directing it would've gone much smoother, but someone here is bad at reading cues.

Are you kiddin' me? I didn't want t'be up there!

[He gestures broadly with a hand as he says this, as if that will get his point across further.]

I ain't gonna sing and dance just because some faceless voice is tellin' me I should.

And how did that go for you?

[They give him a brief pause to answer, but it doesn't matter if he does or not. They know, they know, it's their job to know. Even here, in the theatre of their mind. Isn't it kind of funny, that they're a side character even in their own nightmares now? That they'd rather cast a stranger in the lead than imagine it for themselves?

They really should try therapy sometime.

But anyway,]

You don't have a choice. You either play the game, or let the Universe do it for you. Which would you rather have? The illusion of free will, or none at all?

[That makes Wolfwood shut up real quick. Shut up, and look elsewhere.

It says more than he'll admit. That his life was already an illusion of free will.

So instead of answering that, he grumbles after a lengthy pause.]

So now what? I just wait until I get dragged out there to do somethin' else?

[They check their wrist, which very clearly doesn't have a watch on it.]

You're back on in three... So! Here's the plan!

You're gonna have to start acting better. Your character is... hmm. A cool, mysterious rogue. Carefree! Fearless! But you're also comic relief! You know any good jokes? It doesn't matter, bad jokes are good enough. You just gotta say them with confidence.

Trust me, this will work. We'll be done with this in no time! Easy peasy! Any questions?

Questions? Yeah, I got a question.

[Wolfwood sneers.]

How do you know all this if you didn't put me here to begin with?

Because I'm here to help. I can't help if I don't know the rules!

[not that that's stopped them before, hah.

but they know it's a pretty unsatisfying answer. they'd really prefer to keep their secrets private, but... since he's already caught up in this mess anyway...]

... and also because I know who this stage was built for. I don't know why you ended up here, or why you were given this role, but it's not supposed to be yours. I don't want you to be here, either.

You're just not made for show business, sorry~☆

Yeah, thanks.

[God. God! Honestly how can it get worse. CAN it get worse than getting crushed (again and again and again) by a giant boulder? Methinks not.]

Whatever. Let's just get this over with so I can wake up already.

[does he want it to get worse, it can always get worse...

but anyway, Loop gives him another little clap of encouragement.]

That's the spirit! Go on, then, back to the stage! Don't forget your lines this time! Break a leg!!

[The door swings open on cue, and if for some reason he changes his mind, well, he's going to get up and walk out anyway. No time to waste!

The hall outside looks nothing like a theatre, black stone walls lined with frozen-still torchlight. But at the end of the long hallway is the ever-familiar stage, no boulders in sight. The audience hollers and cheers and whispers past the wall of white hair—it only opens once Wolfwood takes his position, centre stage.

The crowd starts to settle. They'll even clap if when he bows! (He does bow. The Universe wills it. It's just good manners.)

Anyway, a show is nothing without a proper script, right? A single page flutters down from the rafters above, settling perfectly into Wolfwood's hands. Unfortunately, this is not the script. Instead, all he gets is a black-and-white flyer for a bakery. It reads: "Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you almost as much as you LOAF our bread!!!"

...

Hey, isn't this kind of familiar?

Loop is once again standing off the edge of the stage. They'll give him an encouraging thumbs up if he looks at them. You got this!!!]

Dreamscape Player Plot

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1/2 cw: graphic death by big rock go smash

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cw: human experimentation

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Sorry Im late on this Zahliyaquest had me distracted-

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