aftr_stories | [MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

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[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.

Those who tell their stories will start to notice something...odd taking place. Indeed, no matter how they intend to begin their tale, the land of Mu will immediately start to warp to accommodate it, or something utterly unlike it, until storytellers and listeners alike may find themselves in an exact recreation of a seemingly random memory, in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play - you will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

It is time, once more, for you to tell a story...with a slight twist! This is, in fact, our first player plot, as provided by Dragon! The initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams.

Yet for this Storytelling only, people can imagine whatever stories they wish, from both their homes and their time on LifeAftr, as long as they don't mind the fact that others will be reliving those stories in the form of an impromptu memory share.

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. If the memory is recalled in essence, Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

There is, however, a benefit to this: those who venture memories to be relived will receive both a befuddled apology from the Storyteller, who will assert that this was most definitely not meant to happen (they're the Storyteller, not the Rememberer!), as well as a tired promise that the relived memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation.

Not that it counts for much, probably.

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[When you dig through the intestines and claw at the bones of your own world, you learn a few things.

You see the rot and infection spreading through and learn there's only you. A switch, the final solution when things reached their absolute pinnacle of corruption. A windup toy made for one purpose, the executioner at the end of the world. The Batter was able to walk through the Zones and condemn them to the hell of Nothingness before being judged himself at the end and emerged victorious.

The world called for his pity and he tightened the noose. Again and again and again.

And now he was standing with one foot raised over the pits of hell. This island was merely delaying his inevitable fate. Someone who was trying to make an effort to 'be good' by the combined efforts of two people, a young girl and a merchant who had every right to hate him. Yet he could still not let go.

Zacharie was right when he said the Batter only dealt in pain. That was the only thing he was capable of. Pain, fear and sadness. The things expressed in yet another memory of his that consumed a fight between lovers that was nothing but a slog. He couldn't hold anything back then and he was doing his best right now to not express anything.

And old reflex. But there's something in his expression that makes it obvious that's what the Batter was doing.

He doesn't have anything to say to Zacharie's comment. The Batter isn't sure what will happen if he opened his mouth.

He doesn't want to find out.]

[ He winds the music box.

He winds, and winds, and winds. This music box of dreams. And he removes the key and lets it play. It sounds real this time, real as the ocean and the wind, but as if those instruments were conducted to produce a sound from home. It's like getting used to your bed in a new house. Breaking in new sheets. Feeling comfortable with a new pet. ]

Batter, I know you've only been programmed to deal with pain. I wasn't wrong, but I was a fool to think... that pain was malicious.

As cruel as it was, it wasn't malicious.

Isn't that funny, Batter? After all these years, I've figured out you aren't evil. Not even a necessary evil. You are a man who had a mission and when the queen spoke, she said your eyes were 'full of fear.' Was she begging you or the puppeteer to reach into their heart for sympathy and pull the switch themselves by closing our game?

...

I don't know about that. What I do know is that something that feels fear has something to lose. If you're afraid of losing it, it must... warm you to have it.

Come here.

You're no longer in danger of losing anything.

[The music brings the Batter back down before he can retreat far enough into his own mind to simply keep himself safe.

Desperately so. A safety in ignoring simulation that pulls at the base emotion he's been experiencing over the past few days. The Batter had made attempts to 'be good' for awhile now. A hollow smile, an effort to be something, feel something within seashells and a small music box. Trying things he never had, even if they were silly and pointless.

Another day. Continue, exist. Try, try again.

Refuse to ask what it meant when you think things would be better off if you didn't exist.

Would he have done things differently, if given the chance to go back and redo things?

"You can do it. You're brave.", said a little girl in earnest innocence.

Would the Batter choose to allow things to continue, even if it spelled death for the world, rather then put it out of its misery?

"I told you I wouldn't want to FIGHT you.", a child calmly told him.

Even the Puppeteer hadn't know what was coming. They all saw what was dawning over the horizon, yet his God had been left in the dark.

"I highly doubt you do.", another once said.

The Batter thinks, "Too late." when a monster screams she'll break him.

The Storyteller says redemption or a lack of makes for a wonderful narrative, but is he truly worthy of such a thing?

Zacharie...is not wrong. Much like the Judge was, he was not wrong.

And all the Batter wants to do is scream and tear his hair out. He normally did not embrace that monster hidden under human skin but by God he wanted to. He wanted to be that thing again, unfeeling and a pawn in a play that ended with all of the actors dead. He did not want to be here. He...]

I...I don't...

["You can't escape, Batter."

Wrapping his arms around himself, the Batter doesn't move.]

....what does this world want from me, Zacharie?

[What is the point of his existence? What's the fucking point?!]

I don't know.

Isn't that a marvelous thing? I don't know, for once. But I do know it can't be nothing, because you're here, and if you were worth nothing, dissolving into nothing, existing in nothing, there would certainly be no need for you to cultivate a new land.

Maybe there in which lies the answer? You have to cultivate a new land for the one you destroyed. You get to make it in the image of what a land that can sustain itself without rot-- where its failings are deliberate but not cancerous-- can be. You can be somewhere over the rainbow. Somewhere where life is perpetual, and the sun always rises, and the evil are given penance and the good are given relief and those who walked with purpose but no answers, like you, must find them.

A dash of hell, a pinch of purgatory, a little bit of heaven.

At least, that's my theory.

[ He steps forward, one foot after the other, just out of strike zone. ]

Don't you think that's poetic, Batteur?

You are being asked to create and you deny by your very hands that they can make anything at all. Maybe that's why you let your hut stay filthy and yourself lie in the dirt. Because it's pointless to fix anything to you.

You are being asked to deny your existence for just a bit to make a sandcastle. Even if the tide washes it away, nothing will erase the fact that it existed. Bis vincit qui se vincit.

It is pointless.

[If that sounds like anger, it's because it is. Very muted, trying and trying not to give it a chance to truly come out because he doesn't want to fall. The Batter wanted to remain the way he was, a puppet made for one reason and was then put to rest.

He wanted permanence. A final end. Needles in his ears, eyes hollowed out and knives jammed down his throat. Someone to cut off his legs and arms and leave him to hang. Exist in oblivion, forgotten and allowed to sleep for once in his life. He was done, he was done, he was done!

But no. Another day. Continue. Again and again.]

I can't exist as anything else. I can't.

[It's a fool's errand Zacharie. You should have just taken his offer to die at the tip of your blade. It would have been easier.

Because, as always...]

I can't escape. It won't let me. I won't let me. Escaping from your purpose is impossible.

[Because what kind of person digs and finds that in the center of the world? The Batter. The King of the Rot.

Myself, in every sense of the word. You have no idea what he looks like to himself, do you Zacharie? Because the Batter certainly does.

And the Judge's judgement was one thing to hear. His own, on the other hand? Is so much worse.]

Then the sun will rise, and it will set.

And the next day it'll rise and set again.

All over and over, until you realize your own feud with yourself is impossible to keep up and meaningless to fight for. Why have you gone searching with others? Why have you not killed everyone on this island so you can enjoy futility as it was destined for you? That's because you're not allowed, and you know it, and on the same level you're digging your heels in, you can't avoid that, either. You're in limbo, amigo. You're playing a game of tug of war without a rope.

[ Zacharie's fist reels back, and with the strength of a character whose beaten his game, he punches him in the stomach. ]

Let me help you, by God, let me help you.

[ Shaking off his hand from the punch, his arms are still outstretched, inviting being batted in the face or letting one collapse in his arms, either or. ]

You have taken everything from me and I forgive you. Why? Because everything taken from me has a chance to live again here. Because you had a method and someone gave you the means. You couldn't take that first step without the forward key, after all. Not without someone pushing it. And when I suspected you were evil, I was wrong.

You are trapped by your own mind. You are as sick as the boy you killed.

Look at me. I haven't sold a single thing since I got here. I escaped my purpose. It was as easy as no longer having the means to pursue it. And I told you again and again-- I was only a merchant and sometimes I wore a little kitty cat mask and was your guide and nothing more.

Doesn't that mean there's hope for you, beneath all that rejection?

[For the first time in a long, long time, the Batter doesn't see an attack coming and it connects harshly. He doesn't drop from the blow but doubles over and wheezes. His hands catch something, probably Zacharie's hands but he's not paying attention.]

Fuc--

[Yeah, give him a second here.]

[He wants to argue. As Zacharie says, the Batter was digging in his heels and was refusing to move like a child. Playing a game of tug-of-war without the rope. A very dark thought enters his mind and the Batter has to shake off other ideas of what he could do with a rope and just let him focus again please.

Breathe. In and out, in and out. It does take a good while but the Batter eventually manages to regulate his breathing to something normal. Calm. Not emotionless, or someone trying to surpress what he's feeling. It's true that the Batter didn't feel much but whatever managed to slip through was instictivly crushed on the spot. Ripping up the roses in an effort to destroy the weeds or however you want to spin it.

It was really, really....well, stupid. All of this was stupid and it's childish to think of it that way but he can't help it this time. The Batter was in control of his thoughts, or he was back home. Never had to deal with something like this.

But then again he's never had to deal with any of this. The Batter fully expected to die. He would not live long enough to really worry about examining his thoughts. But he's stuck here and stuck with his own non-reality. But---]

I...

[No. He snaps his mouth closed, not to go radio-silent but to think a bit more. A bad move considering how bad things got when the purifier thought too much on a particular subject but he needed to. Once again, Zacharie has a point.

Back home the man was the only merchant in the world, yet here he was. Hadn't sold a single thing, hadn't stuck to his role like there was nothing else Zacharie was build for. Certainly when the Batter thought of the other man, he still thought of him as a merchant but that was because he knew barely anything about him besides that. He knew the Judge, knew a girl name Sucre. Was the one who killed the Toad King. But likes or dislikes? Hopes and fears? No dice.

The Batter couldn't think back to what the Queen liked or disliked but that was because his memories were eroding. And Hugo? That was a whole other thing and would probably lead into another spiral so he won't think about it.

And as for killing everyone on the island? The Batter had been warned by a child that he should take care if he walked down that path because he would die. But that did not stop him back home. It should have not stopped him here.

Yet here we are.]

I don't want to be here. [He makes a vauge guesture towards his own head. Hopefully Zacharie understands what he means.] I....I think that's what I can't escape.

[He can't escape himself. Whenever the Batter looked in a reflective surface, he saw nothing but eyes staring back at him. Whispers and something clawing on the other side in an effort to get out and wrap its hands around his neck.]

I'm safe if I stay there but I don't think it's good.

[A self-inflicted hell is at least self-inflicted, but it's still hell]

You have said it many times Zacharie, but do you really believe there is hope for a thing like me?

[Not even something like redemption. He's probably too far gone for that. But maybe, just a chance to be okay for a little while?]

There is hope for you.

[ He mimes the shape of a box with his free hand. ]

This is all the space we had to live in before, and looking around you, this is all the space we have to live in now... [ He splays his hand and gestures wildly around him, to the great void this dream is in that very softly overshadows the shack they're in, now perfectly repaired, reinforced, and then some, with light from the glowing mana pool streaming in from underneath the doorway. ]

The hope comes from one thing. You weren't allowed to think before. Of course you are afraid, you're terrified-- you're an immortal who just realized they can never die, not even for hope of what's on the other side. Thinking is loud and unbearable.

... but.

Thinking is... a great gift. You've experienced love, I saw it in the static. Now you can aim to feel things like friendship, which is a sort of love. You can have favorite foods, which is a commodity of a love. You can have favorite places that lift you up, that can be a love with the world.

I want to see what you're like when you fall in love with a world, Batter, instead of try to destroy it. Try to think up ways it needs to die. Try to see death in it when it's really just... clean and pure.

["There is hope for you."

There's no revolution with those words. As the Batter had thought, back when he tried to smile when speaking with Ren, those words alone would not save him. It may be tossing more fuel on the fire by thinking something like that, but it's true. In the end action always spoke louder then words.

And the Batter had nothing to show for himself aside from a single death and a child taking care of his fading life in his stead.

He watches Zacharie trace the box of their world and the openness of this island. No longer cramped but able to stretch as much as he saw fit. But then the noises started and the thoughts followed and it made him want to crawl back into that box. Become the puppet that was unfeeling and walked to where it was told to go.

He can't die. Half-true. Once the Batter is sent home, he is dead and gone. But here he can't. The Storyteller will just bring him back.

And he's been loved and has loved, once upon a time. And the Batter once loved the world dearly before he carved everything out. All that was left was a scared child in an adult's body.

The Batter hated it and and was pretty sure he hated himself.

But maybe he should try yet again. The Batter wasn't sure if he could completely stop the thoughts saying he needed to purify the world. He was purely made for it and shaking that wasn't going to be easy.

One foot hanging over the cliff to hell and a curiosity to see what would happen if he leaned forward. Maybe he didn't have to walk off the cliff at once but he could simply put his foot down for a little while.]

...okay. Okay.

[Try not to think of it as 'again'. Just the sun rising. Just another day.]

I do not understand love that well. But I will try it. Just to see what will happen.

[It's a start.]

That's all you need.

That's the first step-- saying you'll do it to see what happens. Failing and trying, those are the hallmarks of winning.

[ He stands up. ]

Do you think if you dream again this time, you'll sleep more peacefully?

I'm not sure.

[The Batter isn't saying it to be negative. He ligamently can't control his dreams and since he more or less just started to experience them, he wouldn't know where to start in the first place if he could.]

But if I can sleep tonight I'd like to think I would.

I think you should.

By the looks of it, you got the worst nightmare out. [ And I, he thinks, am cut out to be a babysitter and mentor after all. ]

I hope so.

[If that was the case then he can sleep and maybe make some headway in getting a normal sleeping schedule.

Hopefully without nailing wings to pigs.]

Rest well, Amigo. May all our conversations not be so emotionally charged.

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[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

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[cw for some disturbing imagery]

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