[MU] - I'VE HEARD YOU SCREAM IN YOUR SLEEP

[story_teller]

[The night of May 27th, in the familiar avenue of your dreams, you will finally receive some manner of explanation for the catastrophic mishap that has struck the local network of Stones of Farspeech.]

[The Storyteller is, unsurprisingly, harried in their delivery of this news. Perhaps their stress will be evident in the shape they have currently chosen to assume.]

- stories. I need stories to fix this. I'd not realized things had grown so dire. The monthly upkeep was not enough to sustain this ever-growing, ever-changing fabric, and so I'll require your stories. They may be past or present - it does not matter, but the sooner you can offer them, the sooner I can fix this! From as many different people as possible! Variety is critical. One story from ten people will be more helpful by far than twenty from one!

I...I will fix this. I can fix this. I only need your help to do it. The more I can accrue...

[A moment of consideration, and then - ]

Ten. Ten at the minimum. Ten should stabilize this. Twenty-five will ensure it will remain stable for the next three months. Fifty, and it will remain stable for the rest of the year.

Without your aid, I will be unable to make this right.

[If your character wishes to donate, they may comment to the corresponding top-level below. To ensure that no one goes bankrupt, we will impose a five story limit per character - and only two stories can be used to stabilize the network immediately.

If your character wishes to converse with the Storyteller, they may also do so.]

Comments

[yourattention]

[Unlike everyone else, Connor is not donating stories he already has. That would be wasteful when the Storyteller said any story would do. Instead, Connor just launches into a weirdly well-rehearsed story. Any time Connor tells a story it tends to be a weird, recursive mess so for him to basically have something memorized is a terrible red flag that he's just saying bullshit. The only things he ever says without asides tend to be bullshit.]

When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. He said: "son, when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned?"

[This is, by the way, being delivered in the same deadpan monotone that Connor says most things.]

He said: "will you defeat them, your demons and all the non-believers? The plans that they have made? Because one day I'll leave you, a phantom, to join the black parade."

Sometimes I get the feeling he's watching over me, and other times I feel like I should go. And through it all, the rise and the fall, the bodies in the street - he wanted me to know we'll carry on. Though I'm dead and gone, my memory will carry on. In my heart, I can't contain it. This story can't explain it -

[If the Dear Evan Hansen novel can deadass just copy song lyrics into the novel, I can do this. Incidentally, the Storyteller is also getting what's essentially an AMV set to this song of all the things they've done. Everything they've all gone through.]

A world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams, our misery and hate will kill us all. So paint it black and take it back - I'll shout it loud and clear, defiant to the end I'll sound the call to carry on.

And though I'm dead and gone believe me: my memory will carry on. And though you're broken and defeated, your weary widow marches, on and on we carry through the fears and disappointed faces of your peers. Take a look at me, 'cause I could not care at all.

[The last verse doesn't matter. Well, it matters but Connor's not gonna say it because that's a better place to end a story.]

[story_teller]

[Stories all take time and dedication to tell- big or small, it is an expression of trust to share them willingly, particularly knowing that the Storyteller uses them to create energy. This story is specifically crafted for the now- detailed, intricate-- and fitting, to what has been experienced this past week.

It is a story worth responding to. And when they do reply, their own tone remains just as level and bland as what Connor would expect from them when speaking...even if they're singing in turn.]

Staring at the blank page before you, open up the dirty window- let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find. Reaching for something in the distance; so close you can almost taste it. Release your inhibitions.

[Is this what you wanted, Connor?]

Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you; only you can let it in. No one else can speak the words on your lips. Drench yourself in words unspoken. Live your life with arms wide open.

Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten.

[Is it?]