Quick note: We do have access to first aid skills. That doesn't necessarily mean we should grab the medicine, mind, but it isn't completely useless of an option.
Shimmer, Glimmer, & Gleam - A Quest of Loss & Gain
- Thread starter Morrowlark
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi Fantasy Horror
[X] Convenient access to your FUCKING nicotine
[X] Someone who needs your skills
[X] Someone to take charge
[X] A defensible position
[X] Someone who needs your skills
[X] Someone to take charge
[X] A defensible position
[x] Convenient access to your FUCKING nicotine
[x] A defensible position
[x] Someone to take charge
[x] Access to ammunition
We have some ammo, we don't require an abundance, as nice as that may be. And a defensible position can be found or built over time. Its much harder to do that for People. Having friends or allies or someone we can help gives us a guiding purpose forward, practical knowledge and basic needs being met means we can worry about future steps over getting the bare bones ready for ourselves and those we surround ourselves with, and medicine means that We or an Ally can tend to wounds or illness that may crop up in the aftermath.
People, Purpose, and the Basic Tools to manage both. The rest we can manage, find, or build as we go.
[x] A defensible position
[x] Someone to take charge
[x] Access to ammunition
We have some ammo, we don't require an abundance, as nice as that may be. And a defensible position can be found or built over time. Its much harder to do that for People. Having friends or allies or someone we can help gives us a guiding purpose forward, practical knowledge and basic needs being met means we can worry about future steps over getting the bare bones ready for ourselves and those we surround ourselves with, and medicine means that We or an Ally can tend to wounds or illness that may crop up in the aftermath.
People, Purpose, and the Basic Tools to manage both. The rest we can manage, find, or build as we go.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So this might be a zombie-alien apocalypse?
Perhaps something more like modern eastern depictions of zombies, wherein certain entities can consume cores (from zombified creatures) to grow stronger (and smarter). But definitely alien, although I'm still not sure if it's anomalies or dimensional travel. Could be both. Either way, there has been an Impact to the before 'normal' way of life - now everything will likely be funhouse mirrors of previous fundamental items, everything now Refracted.
We can confirm that we are in danger and that 'things shouldn't be this way', but the scope and range of what had happened to cause this and why are still unknown. Could be this city only, could be global.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
While I'm on work lunch and thinking about this...
You did meet at least one living human, there at the end. Our protagonist reflexively recognized humans and the human shaped statues as people. All the "it" Pronouns are because you lost your reference points for what signals might indicate which gender when you lost your identity.
You might recall this from earlier.
You did meet at least one living human, there at the end. Our protagonist reflexively recognized humans and the human shaped statues as people. All the "it" Pronouns are because you lost your reference points for what signals might indicate which gender when you lost your identity.
You might recall this from earlier.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hopefully we at least remembered that asking someone for their pronouns is good etiquette.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Alright party people, I'm gonna call shortly after I get home from work, say 60-90 minutes or less depending on traffic & if anyone left me coffee. Partly this is so I have something to wake up to after I pass the fuck out, but mainly it's because writing soothes me. I'm gonna aim at updating just before work & just after work, or once per my "day" if that ends up not working out.
Lastly, and keep in mind that I'm fully willing to play ball here, if y'all end up turning down all NPCs at first imma die of laughter.
Lastly, and keep in mind that I'm fully willing to play ball here, if y'all end up turning down all NPCs at first imma die of laughter.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
And here we go. Let's try a slowdance, hey?
No smoking or vaping, no one above or below us in authority, and no immediate safe haven for our weary soul. But survival essentials and usable resources will await us, somewhere in the city ahead, along with a friend who may accompany our journey. Losses and gains, in equal measure.
Last edited:
Begin Part 1: Aftershocks
New
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
You're only eighteen minutes old. You've known nothing but stress, strife, and pain that entire time. The idea of a safe haven is so foreign to you that even trying to want it fails; you can't envision one. The first person(?) who relied on you died at your hands, and the next died of your neglect, hopefully never knowing that it was abandoned; you can't have that again, not so soon, not when your heart hurts this much.
As for the nicotine, that tobacco smell was nice, but you don't understand your need. You will, though. Soon enough, you will. There will be a butcher's bill to pay, should you choose to do battle with withdrawal symptoms and survival at the same time. Won't there?
As for the nicotine, that tobacco smell was nice, but you don't understand your need. You will, though. Soon enough, you will. There will be a butcher's bill to pay, should you choose to do battle with withdrawal symptoms and survival at the same time. Won't there?
The sensation you are experiencing is unpleasant but, praise be to Merciful Mara (why do you know god names?), not painful. Well, most of it isn't painful. The shard of glass in your breast is, in fact, extremely painful; it's burning your flesh, expanding outward and inward, and for a long moment you're certain that you're going to die. At the same time, you are swept up in...something. Your mind processes it like a current, or a geyser, or even a waterslide (why is that sensation identifiable?), but your body keeps trying to report that all of those things are completely wrong and what the fuck are you even on. The double-think strains your thought processes and makes your nose bleed; spherical drops of crimson are swept away into something that is not quite enough like a current, whisked away to who-knows-where, but wherever they go, it's not where you land.
It was night when the Impact hit. You go careening into an asphalt parking lot just after midday, who knows how long later, but it only felt like moments to you. You have to hit the ground running, stumbling, staggering, and -
- That's some kind of half-glass dog sprinting right at your face -
- You grab it on reflex, whirl with the momentum you're barely winning the fight against, and slam the creature directly into a parked truck's bumper. The glass parts of its body shatter instantly, followed by the wet crunch of bone and a spray of black blood. The force of the blow is enough to get you to stop moving, and you whirl around, looking for more creatures, more danger. You find none.
There is good news and bad news. The good news is, you're in the parking lot of a large building that proclaims itself to be Jillian's Farm & Fleet; the name tickles your memory, some kind of franchise hardware and animal supply store. There will be power tools, normal tools, seeds, soil, tractors, clothes, coats, more clothes, socks, more coats, even more coats, medicine, first aid kits, snacks, a limited supply of groceries, even more coats, hats, and maybe even guns inside. Getting even better, attached to the place to the west is a Dirty Dick's Crab Shack, and the neon light flickering in its destroyed window means the power is on, which means the seafood is still refrigerated, which means real food, maybe even running water. Potable water? Let's not get ahead of ourselves, but if there's water and power and stoves, you can make potable water. Can you get roof access? You could garden, with roof access and some books...
Then we hit the mixed news. This location, as you look around and walk a shaky patrol of the parking lot, seems relatively isolated. Some fucking super genius designed this place as almost a cul-de-sac in the midst of a snarl of freeways, which in turn are choked by cars ranging from "burnt-out husks" to "merely not currently moving". Getting here on foot might be half an hour of walking from the closest real part of the city, but that's all the defenses you have to speak of; the windows on all parts of this building are huge, on the ground level, and also only contain enough glass to be a hazard to someone's health. If you want to hold this place, there will be a butcher's bill to pay; you can't keep anyone or anything else out except through violence.
You weep openly when you finally step through the front doors; someone locked them on their way out, not that it matters at all since the sliding doors have no glass in them. You were anticipating months of staving off scurvy in a desperate attempt to get something decent to grow before the Everlasting Lady claimed you for her realm of dreams; instead, the first thing you see is that where the impulse buy section for garden seeds goes in the front is instead a small, strange garden. All that missing glass from the front windows? It's here, formed into planter boxes or crushed into a strange dust that seems to form soil. Plants of stem, leaf, and steel grow out of that odd earth, and they are already bearing fruit. On a nameless instinct, you pick one, something glimmering and half-translucent that isn't enough like a tomato, and you take a single bite, confident for reasons you could not describe at gunpoint. The flesh is soft and yielding, impossibly so, and its juices run down your chin as your body's ecstatic reaction informs you that you have, it seems, a garden. It's all you can do to force yourself not to eat until you become sick. You're not sure where your medical knowledge came from or why it survived...whatever happened, but it's pretty firm on that front. You don't even know how hurt you are -
- Oh. Right.
Gingerly you peel away the soaked and bloody lab coat, and then your soaked and bloody top, and then your soaked and bloody top, and then your soaked and bloody top, and then your soaked and bloody bra so that you can inspect where the shard of glass was. The news there is mixed too. There's. There's a window in your breast. That's the only way you can think of to describe it. On your right breast, just over your heart, there is a thick window made of glass, and when you touch it you can feel it, as if it were part of your flesh. The window provides a view to your heart, which is pounding away faster than it should be. Stress, right? Yeah. Stress.
Wait.
The heart is on your right side? That...
Nevermind. There's no time to get existential. You need to bathe, you need to dress, you need - you need a lot of things.
Fashion - Pick 3 for your usual fit
[ ] POCKETS POCKETS POCKETS
[ ] Form-concealing
[ ] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[ ] Skirts! With pockets!
[ ] Hoodies! With one huge pocket!
[ ] A truly concerning number of trinkets and accessories that have all the flair and dignity of a freeway truck stop
Weapon - Pick 1 for your usual carry
[ ] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[ ] There's a LOT more ammo for the bolt-actions here, even if learning to use one properly will make some noise.
[ ] There is also a lot of ammo for these FUCKING CROSSBOWS? HELLO? And you can practice with those much more quietly!
You lose most of the first day to treating your various wounds, figuring out doses on painkillers, and realizing that whatever cigarettes were in this building have been thoroughly turned to glass and shattered during the Impact. That turns out to be the last straw, and the sight of it makes you sob yourself to sleep. You wake up in the middle of the night, in no small part because the constant, irregular chatter of gunfire in the rest of the city has stopped for an unusual amount of time. You lay there, eyes open and staring, not moving, ears straining...and then it resumes. That's good. All is right with the world. There is nothing indicative of trauma in that mental sentence.
The next day begins the hunt for other supplies. You have access to a lot of books and magazines, or at least many copies of the same couple dozen books and magazines. Almanacs, gun magazines, hunting magazines, gardening books and magazines, plant identification, even some "prepper guides" which you have an instinctive revulsion for but might contain some useful advice. Scratch that, do contain some useful advice, they're the first thing you found here that lets you know how to make water fucking drinkable for sure. You find power cords and at least four generators, though there's no fuel for them on-site; thankfully the lights are still on, somehow. In a related story, the impulse buy section produces a charger for that phone, which lets you listen to the first of the messages left on that data spli -
- Someone's coming up the freeway.
You post up behind the hood of a truck in the parking lot and raise a pair of binoculars to your eyes. Thus far you have met one human and several statues shaped like a human, and been shorter than all of them. That track record is unbroken; this person, who is running as if for its life, is taller than most of the cars it's running past. Wait, no, not running, bouncing; its legs from the knee down have been replaced with some kind of prosthetic that was either glass to begin with or turned into glass, and it is proving surprisingly flexible and resilient. What those prosthetics are not proving, however, is to be faster than the pack of things that are not enough like dogs which are chasing it. Something in your chest wrenches, and you exhale, slowly. You were scared before. You were desperate before. You were actively bleeding, before. But now you've had one whole night's rest, you've stitched yourself up, you've studiously ignored the fact that you cast no shadow in defiance of all physical laws, you're ready. You can do this. You can help another person.
Name what you're willing to lose
[ ] Ammunition
[ ] Your good health
[ ] One Gift
As a reminder, the Gifts you receive will stay with you. They may, therefore, continue to prove useful.
Begin Part 1: Aftershocks
You are nineteen hours old
"Behind everything simple is a long tail of complicated."
You are nineteen hours old
"Behind everything simple is a long tail of complicated."
- David Eddings, Pawn of Prophecy
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Alright party people I'm going to fucking BED. Thanks for reading and participating, and I'll catch you when it's time to start our next dance.
Enjoy your new friend.
Enjoy your new friend.
FRIEND!!!1!!1!
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Skirts! With pockets!
[X] Hoodies! With one huge pocket!
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Skirts! With pockets!
[X] Hoodies! With one huge pocket!
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X] POCKETS POCKETS POCKETS
[X] Form-concealing
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
It is what it is. Hopefully our gun will carry us for a while on 25-30 ammo.
And we're not giving up any gifts. Not so soon.
[X] Form-concealing
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
It is what it is. Hopefully our gun will carry us for a while on 25-30 ammo.
And we're not giving up any gifts. Not so soon.
[x] POCKETS POCKETS POCKETS
[x] Skirts! With pockets!
[x] A truly concerning number of trinkets and accessories that have all the flair and dignity of a freeway truck stop
[x] There's a LOT more ammo for the bolt-actions here, even if learning to use one properly will make some noise.
[x] Ammunition
Hard to go wrong with pockets, also I have a mental image in my head of our character becoming this local cryptid legend, always leaving an area with another odd bit of beads or braided cloth or shiny metal attached to their coat. Like a Humanoid Corvid collecting the interesting bits and baubles in their travels.
For early on, I think the rifle will serve us well. There is apparently lots of gunfire going off, so one more among them won't be too suspicious, and the extra firepower and ammo will be best used now while its more chaotic out. Plus, the revolver is a close range weapon, and with very limited defences, a bit of reliable range will serve us well here; Even if it takes us a bit to get used to it
[x] Skirts! With pockets!
[x] A truly concerning number of trinkets and accessories that have all the flair and dignity of a freeway truck stop
[x] There's a LOT more ammo for the bolt-actions here, even if learning to use one properly will make some noise.
[x] Ammunition
Hard to go wrong with pockets, also I have a mental image in my head of our character becoming this local cryptid legend, always leaving an area with another odd bit of beads or braided cloth or shiny metal attached to their coat. Like a Humanoid Corvid collecting the interesting bits and baubles in their travels.
For early on, I think the rifle will serve us well. There is apparently lots of gunfire going off, so one more among them won't be too suspicious, and the extra firepower and ammo will be best used now while its more chaotic out. Plus, the revolver is a close range weapon, and with very limited defences, a bit of reliable range will serve us well here; Even if it takes us a bit to get used to it
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] POCKETS POCKETS POCKETS
[X] Form-concealing
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
[X] Form-concealing
[X] Protective layers (as a note, it is currently spring, or at least it feels like spring)
[X] Load up on the limited stock of .45 rounds that your revolver will take; the weapon is quite familiar to you.
[X] Ammunition
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Given all the importance of glass, the fact that our body is mirrored right to left feels... Important.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
It's morning whenever I, personally, wake up, right?
Next dance in 60-90 minutes depending on coffee, possibly earlier depending, again, on coffee. It's gonna be a longer one, as I rather owe those recordings, but they'll be in spoiler blocks.
Next dance in 60-90 minutes depending on coffee, possibly earlier depending, again, on coffee. It's gonna be a longer one, as I rather owe those recordings, but they'll be in spoiler blocks.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Hey party people.
Let's dance.
Let's dance.
Aftershocks 2: A Meeting & Revelations
New
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Five dogs, five shots, right? Yeah. You're confident.
You're going to need to get closer to intercept. You dash from car to car, staying in cover, and draw your revolver from one of the big pockets on your heavy coat. You're not entirely certain why you'd also put on a beanie that has a built-in face mask (it tucks into the hat when not in use), but having your face covered is...comforting, somehow. Maybe there's a satisfaction in knowing that if you can't know what you look like, at least no one else can either, even if long strands of auburn hair have a tendency to fall out anyway.
You whistle sharply at this new person, and it responds instantly, bouncing clear over the hood of a burnt-out car and taking the road down towards you. You raise your revolver, steady yourself against the sedan you're behind, cock the hammer...
...Get out of the way, come on, come on...
Your rescue-to-be bounces towards your right, and you open fire immediately. The first of the glass not-dogs takes the round right through its open mouth and goes down without even a yelp; the glass parts of its body crack and splinter as it slides along the asphalt. Exhale. Second shot; you shatter the shoulder of a beast and leave it bleeding out when it slams into the concrete barrier.
Eyes open along the bodies of the beasts, dozens and dozens of them, and they turn as one towards you. They do not bark, or growl, or howl, or cry out; they hunt directly towards you in determined silence. Third shot, third dog, in a spray of black blood from the chest your bullet caves in like the fist of a god.
Then they're on you.
You open the sedan door in the face of the first one when it leaps; there's a crunch of glass-on-metal, followed by the more definitive crunch of you stomping on its neck. You have to duck to avoid the leap of the last beast, and it lands in the front seat of the sedan, claws scrabbling against cheap leather, body turning -
- Too close to line up a shot -
- Your rescue wrenches the other door open and yanks the beast's tail. It turns to snap at the human's hand, which the person draws back with a yelp, but that's all the time you need; you shoot it through the spine and leave it paralyzed and whimpering on the seat.
That's dead enough. You hasten away from the car, and this new person spares a confused glance at the dog before bouncing along to catch up.
Its voice is a little like yours, but it has a pleasant drawl, like it's not in a hurry to say anything in particular. "Mighty kind of you, stranger. They woulda had me."
"Mm," you manage, walking towards the store; your body is shaking, and as the adrenaline is draining out of you, you realize just how close you came to getting really, actually hurt.
"I'm Jill, uh, Jill Hatter, it's real nice to meet ya miss....ttteeeeerrrrr.....?"
Wait, wait, you know this one. You know this one! 'Miss' is for women, 'mister' is for men -
- No, FUCK -
"Are you hurt?" you ask, to cover your ass and not have that existential crisis right now. When Jill shakes its head, you breathe a sigh of relief. "You hungry?"
"Am I ever - hey, where are you going?"
"Food."
56 .45 rounds remain.
* * * *
You take the chance to observe Jill after getting it into Dirty Dick's, where the immediately perishable foods need using; this in turn means you've thrown together big-ass salads with no particular plan, just a lot of lettuce and vegetables and some grilled fish, though after the first flank of fish turns out a bit flavorless you compensate by salting the next one entirely too fucking much. When Jill squeezes lemon over her salad, you follow suit and find that it goes some distance to rescuing your bad decision. This person is tall, as you'd noticed, six feet or more if it's an inch, and because it's so tall it seems thinner than it actually is. Jill seems to have had a hard time of it; its clothing is in tatters, marked by burns and cuts, with splinters of glass still caught in the tangle of a plaid shirt. This one, like the Nicole statue or, you know, yourself, seems to possess breasts (any hint about what that means? No? You can still go fuck yourself? Okay) and that higher-pitched quality to its voice; it keeps unnaturally red hair in a loose ponytail.
It also eats like it's starving. How long has it been since impact?
"'s rude to stare," Jill says through a mouthful of food.
"Sorry," you mutter, without stopping. "I haven't met many people."
"I guess it's been hard going since...whatever happened," Jill concedes; it touches the back of your gloved hand and favors you with a smile, and you do your best to smile back. "You really saved my bacon back there. If there's anything I can do to repay you -"
"Tobacco?"
"Nah, never touched the stuff."
Of course it hasn't. You sigh, and look around, and...
"...Wouldn't mind someone around," you admit, quietly. A lot of practical reasons for that come to mind, but in the silence of your heart you know that it's because this person has a friendly voice, and it didn't die, and something in you that you didn't know was starving has had its first taste of what you need. "...I can't figure out roof access to start a garden."
It laughs, and that sound, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Jill's face scrunches up when it laughs, and its eyes close, and it's so vulnerable in that moment that you have to bite back hot and unexpected tears. It laughs, because it believes it's safe with you. "I'm sure we can arrange somethin'...?"
...
......
Flatly, Jill speaks up again: "Bitch you got a name or what?"
OH!
FUCK -
Pick 1
[ ] A name from a magazine
[ ] Nicole Bartman
[ ] Outis...uh...Outis Threshold
[ ] Come clean; you have no name
* * * *
The dying dog whines for hours, but luckily you and Jill have the perfect distraction to set up while you pointedly ignore it, even if Jill keeps shooting you odd looks every time it makes a particularly piteous sound. One of the homesteading magazines (Throwback Living: Your Guide To A Traditional Lifestyle) has a history piece on "Eternal Soup", a famine-survival tool and centerpiece of many hearths once upon a time. You get some soup going in a huge fucking pot, keep it at least on a constant low simmer, and frequently add more ingredients and/or water to replace what is taken; as long as it's watched, and kept going, it'll never go bad. Fuel for the fire will be a problem eventually, but Jill estimates you've got about three weeks of wood right now if you use it for nothing else, and that's three weeks of making this relatively okay but soon-to-be-freezerburnt fish fucking last. The first fire, which you try to place inside the store, activates the sprinkler system and the two of you have to scramble to turn it off. You put the second out back near the loading docks.
There's some limits this places on the two of you. If either of you wants to leave for any reason, the other must stay; additionally, you'll need to sleep in shifts, to make sure the fire doesn't go out or get too cold. It's during your first watch that you pop in an earbud, just one, and access the data splinter. For its safety, and for that matter yours, Jill and you have pitched a tent near the fire, and are technically sleeping outside.
That oddly comforting voice, which is not like yours, has a faint crackle and shake; your useless mind gets out of bed to inform you that this is a result of the recording technology.
"My name is[XXXX] - " His name makes you wince, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from hissing aloud, but something about the recording makes it less painful, less...violent. So you keep listening. "You may be familiar with my work on oneiromantic containment; that is, improving the safety devices used to contain loose consequences of particularly powerful dreams. My late [XXXX] always did say that good science is rigorous, but great science helps people. I suppose being remembered as a great scientist isn't so bad for an old sociopath. Heh. I really did show them, show them all, didn't I? Hell of an exit."
"If you are listening to these recordings, you are one of the survivors of, or new life formed by, the Impact and resulting refraction. These recordings are a bit...biographical, biased, inevitably, but they should provide context for the new Domus in which you now live. If you are a member of novel alien life now native to the world once solely of humanity's dominion...well, welcome home. I hope I live long enough to bring you a housewarming gift."
"Keen-eared listeners may realize that there are recordings missing that logically belong here. If you have these recordings, my odds of survival are pretty low. Forgive me in indulging, just this once, in...what does she say...my 'supervillain disease'. I decide how I will be remembered. I sincerely wish the same for you, when your time comes."
"My name is
"If you are listening to these recordings, you are one of the survivors of, or new life formed by, the Impact and resulting refraction. These recordings are a bit...biographical, biased, inevitably, but they should provide context for the new Domus in which you now live. If you are a member of novel alien life now native to the world once solely of humanity's dominion...well, welcome home. I hope I live long enough to bring you a housewarming gift."
"Keen-eared listeners may realize that there are recordings missing that logically belong here. If you have these recordings, my odds of survival are pretty low. Forgive me in indulging, just this once, in...what does she say...my 'supervillain disease'. I decide how I will be remembered. I sincerely wish the same for you, when your time comes."
"Ontology is a difficult branch of physics. Everyone wants something out of you, and most of them want things that our young field is pretty certain do not exist. Measure the wavelength of evil...I'm not certain evil gives off a measurable energy, but feel free to dump grant money into my lab to get the exact same no answers as two generations of predecessors. I'm sure your funding will mystically prove that whatever group you're racist against is for-real evil this time and not instead result in a scandal that ruins your career when you're ousted as a fucking bigot. Morons."
"The biggest day-to-day obstacle is always whether or not to sound the alarm about something. Some oneirophysicists will ring the bell about any particularly strong collective dream, and I have a certain sympathy for that position; certainly seven times out of ten there's a temporary manifestation of something benevolent, maybe twice out of ten you get a malicious or harmful manifestation, but it's that one time out of ten that you missed an urban legend and some slasher manifests for months on end that gets you. Unfortunately governments don't like feeling like they wasted money in nine out of ten cases, and given the rather experimental nature of my research into measuring the broader dreamscape I've favored certainty over best practices. There are plenty of my peers willing to cry wolf, and without their diligent work I wouldn't be empowered to ignore the small fish. Unfortunately, it appears we're looking at the shadow of a big fish."
"Something is disturbing the dreamscape, something...massive is the wrong word. Any physical word is the wrong word, but I suppose I'm a physical person in a physical world. Something massive seems to be moving towards Domus along the oneiromantic axis. It's possible that this is merely a natural movement, a current or...geyser, of dreaming, but I need to be sure before I take drastic action."
"The biggest day-to-day obstacle is always whether or not to sound the alarm about something. Some oneirophysicists will ring the bell about any particularly strong collective dream, and I have a certain sympathy for that position; certainly seven times out of ten there's a temporary manifestation of something benevolent, maybe twice out of ten you get a malicious or harmful manifestation, but it's that one time out of ten that you missed an urban legend and some slasher manifests for months on end that gets you. Unfortunately governments don't like feeling like they wasted money in nine out of ten cases, and given the rather experimental nature of my research into measuring the broader dreamscape I've favored certainty over best practices. There are plenty of my peers willing to cry wolf, and without their diligent work I wouldn't be empowered to ignore the small fish. Unfortunately, it appears we're looking at the shadow of a big fish."
"Something is disturbing the dreamscape, something...massive is the wrong word. Any physical word is the wrong word, but I suppose I'm a physical person in a physical world. Something massive seems to be moving towards Domus along the oneiromantic axis. It's possible that this is merely a natural movement, a current or...geyser, of dreaming, but I need to be sure before I take drastic action."
"We're fucked, just not as hard or deep as I might have feared. If someone had discovered this oncoming phenomenon maybe a thousand years ago perhaps we could build on their work to deflect it or push Domus's dreamscape out of the way or, I don't know, some evil bastard probably would have built dream nukes to fling at it like a movie. None of that is in the cards. Imagine if you had invented the telescope and the first thing you saw was an asteroid headed directly towards you. That's my lab right now."
"The consequences will be catastrophic. Domus has always had a certain relationship to the ontology of the dreamscape, and certainly many kinds of life native to our world can invite that ontology in, or even practice oneiromancy...that will not be what happens here. Even the most catastrophic collective nightmare has nothing on the tide of alternate reality that is about to hit us. Forgive my physical metaphor, but we will need to build dykes, and there is not going to be time to do this right."
"The consequences will be catastrophic. Domus has always had a certain relationship to the ontology of the dreamscape, and certainly many kinds of life native to our world can invite that ontology in, or even practice oneiromancy...that will not be what happens here. Even the most catastrophic collective nightmare has nothing on the tide of alternate reality that is about to hit us. Forgive my physical metaphor, but we will need to build dykes, and there is not going to be time to do this right."
"I always considered myself a deontologist; it's astounding how reasonable utilitarianism seems in the face of this catastrophe. Raising funds quickly is proving difficult. A word to my cousin's sister-in-law acquired me a billionaire whose worthless mind was easily bent, but labor...I've had to go into debt to the mob. They've been shockingly reasonable. Micky the Grin even went so far as to say that if a disaster really does happen, I can consider my debt dissolved, which was very kind of him. I think my words about how his ancestors were the only ones mine could turn to when we moved to this country and had nothing struck a chord. The mob wasn't always...the mob, as it were.
Still. I can't go into debt with every mob on Domus and not everywhere that needs coverage even has a mob to go into debt to. Some small nations were willing to trade on my name and agree to build the devices; I wish my homeland showed me the same respect. A great many people are going to die, or be so fundamentally changed that despite a continuity of consciousness I can only call it death. We may even see permanent changes to the known laws of physics, or exceptions carved out into the same. It is not difficult to imagine, say, a portion of Salt Bay City becoming a flying island during this quote-unquote 'flood' of dreamscape, and then because everyone simply 'knows' that it floats, the collective unconscious keeps it aloft. That isn't even necessarily a bad outcome, but if those changes are more fragile than they might appear..."
Still. I can't go into debt with every mob on Domus and not everywhere that needs coverage even has a mob to go into debt to. Some small nations were willing to trade on my name and agree to build the devices; I wish my homeland showed me the same respect. A great many people are going to die, or be so fundamentally changed that despite a continuity of consciousness I can only call it death. We may even see permanent changes to the known laws of physics, or exceptions carved out into the same. It is not difficult to imagine, say, a portion of Salt Bay City becoming a flying island during this quote-unquote 'flood' of dreamscape, and then because everyone simply 'knows' that it floats, the collective unconscious keeps it aloft. That isn't even necessarily a bad outcome, but if those changes are more fragile than they might appear..."
"We were wrong. It's not a geyser. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck shit fuck shit FUCK SHIT -"
"We've built the wrong defenses. I can blame the imprecise nature of my instruments, the newness of my field, my subordinates. I will not. I have failed humanity, and all we can do now is try to fail it less. My field, and theologians, have always considered the dreamscape itself to be a separate dimension, ontologically contained but with a relationship to our own. I can conclusively say that we were all incorrect. It is not a dimension. It is a medium, like seawater, in which contained ontologies float. Whether we form like pearls or there's some manner of existential gravity is irrelevant. One of them is heading right for us."
"It's the damn mirrors. Chalk a win up for fantasy writers and poets; there is, in fact, a world on the other side of every reflection, although shortly there will not be. If I were a betting man rather than a scientist, I would say that this is some manner of...metaphysical satellite, whose orbit has been decaying for some time, but there simply is no time to prove that theory and no utility in trying. We have less than one month until Impact, and those 'dykes' we have been creating...they're going to make this worse. The soul of the world is about to get into a car accident, and I uninstalled the fucking seatbelt."
"It's the damn mirrors. Chalk a win up for fantasy writers and poets; there is, in fact, a world on the other side of every reflection, although shortly there will not be. If I were a betting man rather than a scientist, I would say that this is some manner of...metaphysical satellite, whose orbit has been decaying for some time, but there simply is no time to prove that theory and no utility in trying. We have less than one month until Impact, and those 'dykes' we have been creating...they're going to make this worse. The soul of the world is about to get into a car accident, and I uninstalled the fucking seatbelt."
"Fuck...augh...this is not an ideal work enviornment at this time. The satellite...it's breaking up as it approaches us. Metaphysical gravity? A metaphysical atmosphere? I wish I had time...I wish I'd spent more time with my family...Everlasting Lady, we're gonna have such a long chat when you take me away."
"Impact is inevitable. I'm staying behind to recalibrate the dykes as best I can to make them useful in actually preserving lives. We have thirteen hours. Not...too bad...for an old sociopath, I wanna say. Not too bad..."
"We will survive this. Humanity. We...we will survive...just not...unchanged."
"Impact is inevitable. I'm staying behind to recalibrate the dykes as best I can to make them useful in actually preserving lives. We have thirteen hours. Not...too bad...for an old sociopath, I wanna say. Not too bad..."
"We will survive this. Humanity. We...we will survive...just not...unchanged."
Pick 1
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Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Man that took a bit. Thank you for your patience, party people, and I look forward to our next dance.
I will be observing with interest.
I will be observing with interest.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Man, I am glad we kept dream logic. We might be a wizard now.
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X] Come clean; you have no name
[X] Share this information with Jill
I also found the whole scene with Jill funny, maybe in a morbid way. It was a good choice to find a friend.
It's also a good thing that we kept the dream logic, as Scorpio said; the fact that the entire world is affected by the dream can allow us to do some crazy shit. In fact, I'd make a safe bet that the Gifts (that we still haven't used) are manifestations of benevolent dreams.
[X] Share this information with Jill
Ok, that's fine. We can make it work.
Oh, I love him already. What should we call him… Mr. Scientist? Nah, maybe something else.
I also found the whole scene with Jill funny, maybe in a morbid way. It was a good choice to find a friend.
It's also a good thing that we kept the dream logic, as Scorpio said; the fact that the entire world is affected by the dream can allow us to do some crazy shit. In fact, I'd make a safe bet that the Gifts (that we still haven't used) are manifestations of benevolent dreams.