[ as you wander around to the backstage area behind the podiums, you find yourself coming across so many faceless mannequins. they stand by, silently waiting, and seemingly blending in.
the longer you look though, one of the mannequins appears to be...breathing? it seems to be wearing an iron mask of some sort.
are there any blunt, heavy objects around that she can grab? preferably swingable. she is taking a step back, not taking her eyes off the breathing mannequin for too long.]
[GOD. well. she just rolled an 18 so she's going to try and hit it hard with the folding chair. not in the face, on account of the metal mask, but anywhere around the head area that looks nice and less protected. please fuck off.]
[ this entire illusion's shattered, honestly. harley suddenly hits the mannequin and with her 18, the figure stumbles back. it stutters a little, but the metal mask begins to waver and soon she'll see something until 20:19.
the lights in the studio suddenly go out. she hears voices, inaudible mumblings from a man and three teenage girls from somewhere back out on the studio floor.
proceed?
(for reference in the video while the convo between ryuki and tama cannot be heard and the phone screen isn't visible she can at least get the sense that it's dangerous.) ]
as she proceeds, she'll see there are shadowed figures of those three girls, along with a figure of another guy. she can't entirely make out their expressions, but she can see they're all tense.
ahead of her is a rolling cart, and on the cart is a large bag. it's closed tight, but it seems to be calling to her.
[ well. what's up is that the lights are dimmer as she approaches the bag. there's a little bit of water on the floor. a camera's been knocked over somewhere, but none of that matters. with her focus on the bag, she can reach forward and open it.
it's only the right half of this body, cut perfectly and seamlessly down the middle, and even though she's alone in this memory she'll hear it from behind her, as if someone else had been in her place before. the unsteady, surprised noise of a twelve year old boy in shock. the uneven, stilted breathing.
and then, eventually, the grief-stricken whines before the anguish yell. a gust of something blows past her and suddenly the memory fades. she's back to where she started on the eudora, and the real shoma's standing there just...kind of looking exhausted by this particular memory. sup. ]
[ which like. his point is soon proven by her memory! there is a lot happening here. there's a lot? he's busy watching all of this go down from grandma wolf (???) to harley's presumably dead head to her bursting out of the world's skin, beheading a queen...that really, really tall woman that she seems to care about, and her untimely death.
also the weird laughing fucker. there's that. ]
...I'm sorry. [ for her loss, he means. because what else do you say first? ]
she chews on her lip for a second, shaking her head. the expression on her face is more... uncomfortable than you'd expect? still sad, but. kind of awkward.]
No, it's, uh... It's okay. You don't gotta be sorry. [she hesitates here for a beat. mostly because she just saw him lose his dad and—] She's okay now. I mean, she died for real. But she's a half-plant metahuman, so when we buried her in the dirt, it... helped. Eventually.
So like...you buried her and she grew back like a tree? [ i.e don't be sorry now he's just fascinated. and confused. the fuck, how is a person just half-plant. ]
Not exactly... The renewing power of nature and my tears of friendship falling on her grave healed her injuries. So she dug her way out and came back to me.
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but, hm. sure, she'll take a look at the backstage area before she decides where to go next. what's behind the podiums?]
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the longer you look though, one of the mannequins appears to be...breathing? it seems to be wearing an iron mask of some sort.
what do you do? ]
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WELL.
are there any blunt, heavy objects around that she can grab? preferably swingable. she is taking a step back, not taking her eyes off the breathing mannequin for too long.]
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well. there appears to be what looks like a folding chair, and a heavy wrench.
which do you choose? the mannequin continues to breathe, slowly and steadily. it feels as though it's staring directly at you. ]
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she's grabbing the folding chair and using it to poke the mannequin from a distance, ready to move if this is about to turn into a horror movie.]
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but with a roll of 3, it's not fast enough. what does she do? ]
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[GOD. well. she just rolled an 18 so she's going to try and hit it hard with the folding chair. not in the face, on account of the metal mask, but anywhere around the head area that looks nice and less protected. please fuck off.]
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the lights in the studio suddenly go out. she hears voices, inaudible mumblings from a man and three teenage girls from somewhere back out on the studio floor.
proceed?
(for reference in the video while the convo between ryuki and tama cannot be heard and the phone screen isn't visible she can at least get the sense that it's dangerous.) ]
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also... oof... that's rough. kind of relatable but so rough.
let's proceed?]
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as she proceeds, she'll see there are shadowed figures of those three girls, along with a figure of another guy. she can't entirely make out their expressions, but she can see they're all tense.
ahead of her is a rolling cart, and on the cart is a large bag. it's closed tight, but it seems to be calling to her.
...proceed? ]
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well, she isn't scared of no ominous bag. what's up?]
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and she's greeted with a surprise.
it's only the right half of this body, cut perfectly and seamlessly down the middle, and even though she's alone in this memory she'll hear it from behind her, as if someone else had been in her place before. the unsteady, surprised noise of a twelve year old boy in shock. the uneven, stilted breathing.
and then, eventually, the grief-stricken whines before the anguish yell. a gust of something blows past her and suddenly the memory fades. she's back to where she started on the eudora, and the real shoma's standing there just...kind of looking exhausted by this particular memory. sup. ]
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MAN.]
... Well, fuck. [WHY IS AI:NI THIS WAY.] Are you, uh... okay? I mean, well. Probably not.
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...I'm better than I was then if that's what you mean.
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...fair enough. This thing seems to be the new "fun" effect of the week. Can't wait.
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[i haven't given you a mem, though. so have mem.]
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[ which like. his point is soon proven by her memory! there is a lot happening here. there's a lot? he's busy watching all of this go down from grandma wolf (???) to harley's presumably dead head to her bursting out of the world's skin, beheading a queen...that really, really tall woman that she seems to care about, and her untimely death.
also the weird laughing fucker. there's that. ]
...I'm sorry. [ for her loss, he means. because what else do you say first? ]
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she chews on her lip for a second, shaking her head. the expression on her face is more... uncomfortable than you'd expect? still sad, but. kind of awkward.]
No, it's, uh... It's okay. You don't gotta be sorry. [she hesitates here for a beat. mostly because she just saw him lose his dad and—] She's okay now. I mean, she died for real. But she's a half-plant metahuman, so when we buried her in the dirt, it... helped. Eventually.
[...]
Sorry.
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So like...you buried her and she grew back like a tree? [ i.e don't be sorry now he's just fascinated. and confused. the fuck, how is a person just half-plant. ]
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[sometimes... metahumans just be like that.]
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...lucky enough then. [ the fuck. ] Harley are you...a normal human? I never thought to ask. [ or are you just surrounded by metahumans. ]
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[sometimes, you are simply a clown surrounded by a bunch of metahumans.]
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