aftr_stories | [MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

"No, no...no!"

The Storyteller's voice cuts through the inkdrop-dark, frantic and scrambling. A distant blot of campfire gutters in the far distance - far from where you are. The disorientation of the week preceding this one has translated into Mu, and everything is hopelessly out of place. The Storyteller sounds muffled, clearly addressing someone or something else, their voice cushioned by the uniform, void-like night.

"Stop it. Stop it! I wasn't gone for very long at all. You can't behave for two weeks? You have to make it all...all...wrong? I can't keep this up - not with what I've had to do since returning - !"

Gradually, however, the shadowy campsite solidifies into being. Or...a semblance of it does, in any case. Four glistening pyres rear out from the shadows, each glowing a different color. The strange material that domes them almost resembles worked steel, forming different patterns against their multicolored backdrops.

[ ♆ ] The first glows a deep crimson, kicking scarlet embers into the dream-night air. Its pit sphere portrays a crowd of people in silhouette, heads bowed in genuflection - paying homage to some looping, many-coiled shape in the sky above.

[ ♆ ] The second glows a deep orange. Its pit sphere is worked into the shape of a looming mountain, with what might be some sort of village or ruin sprawled at its base.

[ ♆ ] The third's flames are a rich green. Its designs are most abstract; the starburst patterns that swirl across the metallic composition of its fire pit sphere could be explosions, maybe...or something else entirely.

[ ♆ ] The fourth pyre is one bearing host to golden flames, amber sparks sprayed out from behind the shape of a set of scales nestled among a flurry of birdlike shapes.

Beside each pyre is heaped a pile of sticks, colored to correspond to their respective flames. The Storyteller sounds agitated when they manage to speak again:

"Will you let them at least make the choice I left to gave them?" When there is no response, they sigh. "If you can hear me...I can't make it clearer than that, at the moment. Pick one. Pick one, quickly, and try to get out before it decides to make things worse! Just add a stick to whichever one looks best to you!"

Unfortunately, whether you abstain from voting or make your choice, that's not all there is to this night...

Tonight's Storytelling, further warped by Mu's capricious nature, will likely feel familiar to those of you who were with us in December of the year prior. Only this time, you don't get much choice in what kind of story you're telling...or, indeed, any choice in the matter at all. As you wake by the Storytelling campfire, Mu shifts to form three separate events from your character's present - which is to say, within one full year of their current canonpoint - 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.

While the initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams, things will be far more similar to the memory share that occurred in December. All memories must be from within one year of your character's canonpoint. For questions, please refer to our OOC event post!

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. The memory does not need to be willingly recalled in essence in order for Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

Just like the last time this happened, all memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation. So at least there's that!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Once again in the dead of night, the dark shelves of the library are unimportant in comparison to the steadily growing red glow, which sharpens each shadow with knife-like precision.

The source is obvious; a red heart, almost cartoonish in appearance, floats before one Tim Wright as he staggers under the weight of some phantom pain, expression twisted ugly by the sensation. Before him stands a child who seems far calmer- knife in hand, Chara isn't really looking to Tim. No. They have eyes only for that heart.]

...You'll feel better soon, Tim. [A murmur as they step forward, raising their arm. Raising their knife.] You have my word.

[There's no hesitation, after that. The knife is brought down, aim deadly accurate. Steel impales the heart floating between them- and Timothy lets out a strangled exhale, collapsing to the ground.]

Thank you. [He wraps out. He's losing color quickly, eerily prone. No shakes in his body, no twitches of his limbs. He's not moving. He doesn't seem capable of moving. The shallow breaths are a struggle; light gasps his body no longer seems willing to take.] It means a lot - that you tried.

[And so it doesn't. The heart- shudders, thin cracks spreading out from the puncture wound. Fragments of glowing red fall away, lines becoming deep, irreparable recesses.

When it shatters, the pieces fade entirely, taking their glow with them. And Tim is still. In almost idle fashion, Chara nudges his body with their foot.]

You can thank me later.

[First, they have a few things to do. They sweep up the area around Tim with their hands, picking up as much of an odd, blue powder off the floor as they can. They tuck their knife away, rifle through the dead mans pockets until they uncover his pill bottle- and toss the contents out the window. Drop the empty container by his side. With no physical damage to him, it almost looks as if he simply...

Straightening up, Chara's next move is to take out a phone, shooting off a text. The response is almost instantaneous- a pop in one corner of the room that announces the arrival of another man, one who rushes forwards with eyes only for Chara.]

Are you okay? [He almost reaches for them, stopping short before Chara even begins to shy away. Settles for looking them over, searching for any injury, any distress.] Are you--

[Only then does he notice Tim.]

...What happened? [Chara shrugs. Their own eyes drift to Tim, seemingly unconcerned.]

I suppose his demons finally caught up with him.

[And then they smile.]

Do you think the Queen can collect a body that's been cremated?

[It's not that he doesn't find it surprising, or is even regretful of any of what transpires. It's just that he knows it's not going to look that way to anyone who sees it, so that's how it is that Tim hunkers down and rubs a hand up through his hair. Glances at Chara, sidelong, and says very calmly, and deliberately:]

I never thanked you. For the cremation, anyway.

[He's as genuine as it's possible for him to be.]

[He really is thankful.]

After all that effort, you think I would allow the Queen to take you? [Tsk tsk, mister Wright. Looking back, they smile, volume- possibly louder than usual, because he's got the right idea. There's bound to be more than one person who takes offense to that situation as a whole.]

Have more faith. As it stands, I believe I was correct, after all.

Life here seems... better for you than that of the castle. Slightly.

[Forget the fact that they're currently covered in bruises from ghosts that no one else could see. LifeAftr had been better for Tim overall, recent events not included.]

I wasn't very useful in a war zone.

[Framing it as a suicide attempt might have been offensive, for some. But considering their second meeting involved Chara saving him from exactly that, he's not overly offended. Or offended at all, really. It's better than someone blaming them for something they both agreed on.]

"Better" is kind of overselling it, but I guess I got off easy.

[Which is to say, he didn't have to lose any more memories than he already has.]

[He certainly wasn't. After all this time, they still can't say what Ozuma saw in him. For all the assets and skills he's shown this past year, none of them really cater to gorilla warfare.]

Busier, then. Integrated. [They can purple prose it if you force them to, Timothy. More than happy to spout some poetic nonsense about a blossoming flower- perhaps a fine wine being aged in a casket?]

[Come on, give the man some credit. He handled himself just fine in the gorilla warfare of last year.]

All right, so wars between shadows and light aren't conducive to repurposing old buildings into restaurants named after chain stores. [Call that one for his resumé: a fixer upper.]

[Somehow. Despite everything.]

Wars generally aren't conducive to anything, mister Wright. [Chara sighs. He's really doing this, isn't he? He's actually going to force them to spell this out.]

It is a compliment, Tim. You may simply accept it with a simple thanks, Chara. Golly gee, I appreciate it.

[Stop ignoring their attempts to validate your stupid ass.]

[Oh, but you see, two can play at that game. The validation game.]

Well, shucks, then. I'll accept the compliment if you do.

You did good. Back then, and...now.

You don't have to lie for my sake. We both know my actions have never led to anything good.

[It's the closest they can get to admitting they did the wrong thing. Attempting to escape the consequences... that's precisely why their LOVE ended in hell.

Back then, and now.]

Unless we're somehow classifying it as good by association.

I wouldn't say never.

[It's not liable to mean anything, in the long term. The moment someone lets down their guard, that's when the worst starts to flood in. But it's still important to say it, maybe.]

But maybe that's just me.

[They actually smile, at that. Something genuine and rueful as they lean back, propping themself up with their hands on the sand.]

I'd say you're more biased than most, Timothy.

So I'm biased.

[But it's worth it. It's worth it if it means they smile like that, only for a minute. It's worth it. It almost pulls something answering out of him.]

Aren't we all?

[He doesn't smile. They know that better than most- better than anyone on this world, they're certain. So they know what else to look for instead. A lessening of the tense hold on his shoulders. An easing of the lines at the corners of his mouth, his eyes.

When you know him it's easy to tell when Tim is feeling happy.

Chara's certain they know him better than anyone.]
[Bias, huh?]

I suppose we are.

[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

ii. but they shot us down

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject