EVENT - Ripple and Warp IC log (part 1!)

[pluviosamods]

ripple and warp

Hello and welcome to the IC log for Pluviosa's Fourth Wall event, Ripple and Warp!

In addition to providing information about how characters arrive on the new deck (whether they're existing passengers or not), this post also serves as a place where Fourth Wall characters can post top-levels without joining the game community.

Further information on Fourth Walls in general and the other accompanying OOC updates to the game can be found on the OOC information post here. This post also serves in lieu of a regular between-events Test Drive.

Finally, you may now start sending in your applications to keep your AU, CRAU, and so on characters around after the Fourth Wall! Be sure to note the minor changes to the Applications page (namely, the addition of an "AU information" section).

Without further ado - How did you get here? And more importantly, where is 'here' anyway?

existing characters

Whether or not characters remember falling asleep on the evening of Day 37, they wake up somewhere different on Day 38, lying on a couch in an almost-familiar room. The couch is similar to the ones in the lounge, though those with keen noses will note that the cushions don't smell the same - there's no scent of your fellow passengers, or of the faint hint of an unknown, arid place that first accompanied the clean furnishings the Ship dragged out.

The room isn't one you've been in before, either, but it's still clearly on the Ship somewhere - there's the familiar motion of the legs moving, and the overhead emergency lights (the only source of light initially in the room) are the same as the ones in the hallways on Fern that the Ship has been working so hard to restore. However, that doesn't mean that it's hard to see - indeed, considering the contents of the room, the low lighting might be a blessing in disguise.

It's full of mirrors.

Not only the sorts of mirrors that character would expect to find, the ones that have been missing from the Ship's bathrooms and other expected places, though there are certainly plenty of those in the room - but the walls, the door, and the ceiling are also all mirrors. Mirrors hang on a portion of the larger furniture in what appears to be the living room of a suite. It's not as dramatic as it could be, but aside from the couch characters wake up on, it's pretty close. The floor, at least, is not reflective mirrors, though it's not much less shiny - instead of the usual hotel-esque carpet of the suites, there's seamless stone tile in stormcloud grey, slight variations in the color indicating marble. And all of those reflective surfaces are perfectly clean - although it's possible to find dried spots of decay on the backs of the mirrors, overall, it seems as though time doesn't have claim on this part of the Ship, much less the Growth.

And of course, where there are mirrors, there are reflections.

Some of them - probably the majority - are normal, perfect mirrors of the person the character expects to see. Some of them are distorted, but in a normal, mundane way - funhouse mirrors among the panels on the walls, making you wide or skinny or warped.

And then some of them show reflections of you that are distorted, not as in bent, but as in there being something different about the you that's in them. Different clothes; different hair; different age; different species. Added scars, or missing ones; limbs missing, or replaced with something else. A completely unknown you in the mirror.

For the most part, these altered reflections act the way you would expect, imitating the movements of the rest of the reflections in the room. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes they climb out of the mirror - and whether they're friendly or not remains to be seen.

There's a note on the mirror-topped table next to the couch. In backwards writing that needs to be held up to a mirror to be read easily, it says:

Thanks for visiting! I'm sorry I couldn't be there to meet you, but there's just so many people here today!

I wonder if you'll get a chance to meet the real you?

Good luck!

new characters and visitors

For those who are new around here, the method of arrival is... a bit different. This applies equally to characters who are just here for the fourth wall (alternates of existing characters etc) or those who will be apped as permanent residents - there isn't a distinction to these categories until the end of the event.

These characters arrive with a first sensation of being pressed against a hard, glass surface - not unlike the whispers of sensation that haunted the existing passengers over the last few days. The difference is that this time, the glass you're pressed against isn't a horizontal floor or bed - it's vertical or at least mostly vertical, and you can tell which way is down.

Or, put another way: Newly arrived characters start their boatride on the wrong side of the mirrors that are packed away into the unknown deck. They are facing towards the real world side, the way they would if they were reflections made physical, but turning around and looking behind them is nearly impossible.

Indeed, there's a growing pressure forcing them against the glass barrier. It grows harder and harder to breathe, almost like drowning, or being crushed by water pressure -

Until, just when you think you can't survive any more, something gives way, and you stumble out of the mirror into the real world. It's not the glass breaking - it's more like forcing your way through a soap bubble or the membrane that sits inside an eggshell that separates the hard pieces from the white. Water, too, cascades down out of the mirror with you, splattering all over the floor, but it's just water, and it doesn't seem to have left more than a bit of surface dampness on you.

However, when characters turn around, they will find that while the glass is still in place and unbroken, the mirror will no longer reflect anything - not even the shine of light cast on the glass - rendering these mirrors completely black. This reflectivity stays on the puddle of water around your feet instead, which aggressively reflects the area around it even if taken elsewhere - even if poured into a cup. In motion, it's too transparent to be taken for mercury or silver, but when pooled undisturbed, it does not ripple in response to the motion of the ship. Only the actions of characters or other forces can cause ripples. Otherwise, it appears to be normal water.

Characters who are alternates of each other might come out of the mirrors while they're literally being reflected (a certain surprise for those who are on the normal side of the mirror doing the looking), but they might also just appear in rooms all by themselves, or in the presence of someone else they know (or think they know). Those who don't have any immediate connections among the current passengers are more likely to appear in some empty room, but ultimately this is left to player discretion.

shallower reflections

Not all reflections are as potentially friendly as those played by those of us on the player side of the screen, however. In addition to the "deeper" reflections played by real humans, who have or at least appear to have personalities and histories of their own, there are also "shallow" reflections. Unlike the Fourth Wall arrivals, shallow reflections can't be of characters who aren't present at the time - they only appear in response to characters looking into mirrors (whether those characters are existing residents or new arrivals).

The shallow reflections come out of the mirrors just like the Fourth Wall arrivals, but there's always something a little off about them. Some of them stay reversed like a reflection; some of them don't make any noise when they move and cannot speak; some of them come out of the mirrors with the funhouse-esque warped reflections and stay that way. Like their more 'real' counterparts, the mirrors the shallow reflections come out of turn completely flat, unreflective black; unlike their counterparts, they don't really hesitate in striding out, much less stumble and potentially collapse.

What do they want? To shove whoever they're a reflection of into the black mirror they came from. What happens if they succeed?

You die. I mean, probably. There's no way of knowing unless one of them does succeed, after all. If you want your character to die in this fashion, please let the mod team know. While we cannot guarantee that interesting things will happen to all characters (and those who are only here to visit for the Fourth Wall are not eligible), this may have permanent consequences for your character, take them out of play for longer ICly than a typical death, or impact other characters in the game beyond the typical levels of emotional harm. Or some combination of all three.

Fortunately, the shallow reflections only have physical strength on their side - they do not possess any powers of those they take the shapes of, and they can be killed in largely the same way as unremarkable flesh and blood humans. A killing blow causes them to collapse into the same hyper-reflective water as described above; the mirror they came out of remains black.

??? deck

The deck itself is open fully to character navigation. Like the lab specimen storage of Zinnia, this deck - whose name is not posted anywhere for characters to find easily - is clear of any signs of Growth, and manages to feel chilly even if you get up to the top deck where the sun is shining.

Or... Should be shining. Regardless of the weather on other deck dimensions, the skies above this deck are
always, at best, a cloudy, half-stormy grey. The air above hangs tense, like the clouds are waiting for something to happen. Unlike the other instances of Ship weather, you don't need Neuvillette's particular affinity with water to sense it - any character with empathic or telepathic powers will be able to feel the sense of looming, helpless frustration in the clouds.

The most notable feature of this deck, of course, is that it's full of mirrors. Indeed, it's not only the mirrors that are missing from the suite bathrooms, the public restrooms by the cafeteria, and so on - there are far more mirrors than the Ship would reasonably need to outfit the decks it has, even including the multidimensional nature of it. Mirrors hang from the walls, and then more mirrors lean against those, or against the other furnishings, or even against each other (since some of them are standing mirrors), and the groups against the walls are often five or six panels deep with the largest at the back the side of the glass panels of the Ship's sliding glass balcony doors. (Yes, those are also replaced by mirrors, reflective in both directions.) Tabletops are reflective in their own rights, and then littered with even more, antique-looking hand mirrors and makeup compacts and those little circular mirrors sold in bags by the dozen at the craft store, only an inch across.

Considering all the reflective surfaces, it might be a good thing that there is only emergency power supplied to this deck - enough to keep the guide lights on and ensure that the sliding doors (though not the elevators) are working, and that whatever system pumps water through the faucets and showers is still going. The water is all cold, however, and there isn't any food available on the deck so far as characters are able to find. In the place where characters are used to finding the cafeteria, there is instead a terrifying mirrored bar filled with empty bottles and glasses as well as - well. Take a guess.

With the exception of the sliding glass doors in the suites, the glass of windows and so forth seems to be what it should be - though it's more reflective than seems natural, too. Like Zinnia, the cleaniness of this deck means that characters have full run of it, all the way down to the lounge on the bottom of the Ship - which is the only place that isn't completely clean on this deck. The super-reflective water that pours out of the mirrors seems to have flowed down here at some point, where it sits, unaffected by the motion of the Ship, about an inch deep across the entire floor. This water is the only feature down in the bottom lounge - there is no furniture, in contrast to its Zinnia counterpart.

And on this floor, at the very bottom, and only this floor, the reflective water has the smell - only the smell, not any other qualities - of fresh blood.

The Ship will not answer characters here - although the terminals in the residential deck that can normally be used to communicate with it (in whatever limited capacity) are present, their screens are (of course!) mirrors, and unresponsive. There's also no signs of drones about, not even the basic roomba-like cleaning drones; there's no evidence that they've been here recently, either.

A follow-up log, in which the Ship manages to make contact with characters wherever they are, will be posted later (mod goal time is 2-3 weeks from now). That log will take place on Day 40 and will bring with it food (for everyone who has gotten very hungry by then) and drone assistance, but whether characters actually manage to escape at that point or later on on Day 42 is left open to the opinions of you, the players! Both current players and visitors will be able to vote in a Discord poll on the matter, to be posted in the Discord announcements channel tomorrow (after you've had the chance to sleep on this post and let it cook in your brains a little).

Happy playing! Questions can be asked on Discord or added to the usual questions header below this post.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[pluviosamods]

[experimentum]

Do the mirror-creatures trying to shove characters into the mirrors have blood?

Casper LeBlanc Sr. | Tabletop OC

[experimentum]

[Just as a warning, Casper LeBlanc Sr. is somewhat sociopathic, definitely verbally abusive and dismissive, and has a very triggering past related to World War II. I will be warning in subject lines, but if anything comes up that makes you uncomfortable please talk to me and we can change it.]


Reflections

He's a bit irritated when he's pushed into the mirror - or out of it? - and arrives on a strange... well, it seems like a cruise ship. He looks around and tries to figure out what's going on. He can sense... death. And he can sense one particularly strong point of death energy and -

... No. There's more than one. Well, he'll find the boy eventually.


Shallows

There's not really much point in him trying to get much information out of these things. They're trying to kill him, and so he's got to kill them first. He makes a dismissive gesture and the figure menacing him drops to the ground, coughing up blood. He huffs and nudges it with a shoe.

No sense in staying if it's not going to be available to study later. He turns as it starts to turn into mirror-water. He's already got a sample.


Encounter (cw: emotional/verbal abuse)

He does find the boy eventually, and Casper just... freezes when he sees his father. It's not hard to find him, since he starts following along with the man as soon as he's instructed to do so.

"I should have known you'd have gotten yourself into some sort of mess." "I just -"

The younger LeBlanc is silenced with a sharp look. "You've a role to fulfill, you know. You can't be dawdling here."

"I'm not trying to stay here -" "I didn't ask for your input."

The 'conversation' continues along these lines as the two wander through the hall.


Wildcard

[Want something else? Hit me up on Discord.]

Encounter

[airplaneskyward]

Shang Beida did not enjoy waking up in a strange place minus boyfriend, and he's been following his tracker on Casper to try and get back to him. There's a weird sort of echo on the feedback, like there's... someone related to Casper on the boat? Which, Shang Beida hates everyone related to Casper, so his hackles are already up when he comes within range to hear a the cold voice of an older man berating Casper and shutting down everything he tries to say in response.

He shifts his belt so that his sword is behind his back, so it won't be visible to he has a horrible suspicion who he's about to see, and hurries around the corner.

"Casper? Are you okay?"

That guy... definitely looks enough like Casper to be his horrible Nazi dad. Would Casper be mad if he just like, immediately stabbed the guy? Probably.

He still really wants to.

[primordialice]

Mirror, Mirror

The passage through the mirror is uncomfortable, but pain is just pain and it fades almost immediately once Wriothesley has gone 'through' to... wherever this is. A room full of shining mirrors, save for the pitch black one directly behind him. He taps at it, investigating the surface, and then the curiously reflective water pooling at his feet.

A glance in one of the remaining reflections is enough to tell him that he's reverted to his natural form - a skinny, dark-haired sixteen year old with three vicious-looking red scars down the front of his throat - and his clothes (including Wriothesley's signature fur-collared coat) are hanging on him since he's lost half a dozen inches and at least a hundred pounds. He sighs, his eyes flashing with blue-purple iridescence as he shifts to his more usual form - a perfect doppelganger for the Wriothesley the inhabitants of the boat are familiar with, leaning in to one of the mirrors hanging on the wall to make sure the rest of his scars are in place.

[ooc: feel free to find alt!Wriothesley before or after he shapeshifts or feel free to hit me up on disco if you want to do something else!]

[theblacklamb]

Mezzetino has no idea where he is, and it’s much less interesting than the Abyss. There’s nothing to fight here.

…or maybe there is. “Brigi!” He flings himself at Brighella’s shoulders to drape himself over them irritatingly. Everything is more interesting when Brighella is there. “You’re here too! Do you know where we are?”

Feferi Peixes | Homestuck

[cuttlefishcolours]

Feferi comes to awareness short of breath, gills fluttering. Everything is-- wrong somehow, a deep pressure all over like visiting her lusus except she can't breathe, lungs burning, gills flaring desperately, black sparks at the edge of her vision and then-- she stumbles against the sudden release of pressure, collapsing to her knees, catching herself on wet hands (wet?) and inhales, choking.

It's worse than slipping between dream bubbles. With those, it's hazy, warping and shifting like, well, a dream. Here, she feels all too real. She flexes her hands, slowly, staring at the puddle she sits in. The water wicks away from her too smoothly, leaving only the faint impression of dampness. And it's too reflective, a mirror running across the floor. Somehow, she's not surprised to see her eyes reflected back, orange and alive and scared.

Where is she? And what's with all of the mirrors? Whatever is going on, her best bet is exploring this strange place. She's all too eager to leave this unsettling room, and makes her way into the hall, calling out a tentative, "Hello?"

[screwubbaboo]

"Hello?" A tall robot cowboy comes into view from another room down the hall, lifting a hand to wave friendly-like at the unfamiliar grey-skinned young lady. "You alright there? Ain't seen you 'round before." She's got a pretty memorable appearance, he's sure he'd recognize her if he'd seen her on the boat. "Not that I've been 'round here myself, everything looks forked up."

Roulette | Elation/Finality AU Aventurine

[threechipsdown]

Mirror Mirror

Something is pushing Roulette, and it feels inescapable, but it's not right--it's not the right kind of inevitability, it doesn't feel like his murderer. Pushing back against it accomplishes nothing, though, and he's increasingly bad at resisting any kind of inevitabilities since the gala, so he gives up and lets it shove him through a pane of glass, finding himself in a bizarre hall of mirrors.

Well. He might as well look the part. He shifts the illusion on his mask to be a smooth pane of mirror above his face, and goes looking for something interesting.

He’s Not You (closed to Boothill)

Something here almost feels like Garnet, but also not—but it’s enough for Roulette to be able to lean into Finality and let it sketch him a path through the halls to find whoever or whatever it is. He puts his illusion up the usual way, so that his murderer can see through to his real eyes, but everyone else gets the illusion over his mask. When he reaches whatever he’s seeking, he sees familiar black and white hair and extremely unfamiliar clothes.

“Garnet?” He doesn’t think it is, it doesn’t feel like his murderer, but it also doesn’t not feel like his murderer, and honestly it’s very confusing and he would love to be able to outsource any decisions about what he should do, except that would be Garnet’s job, and he’s not here. All he has to lean on on that front is the Finality itself, and a head of Aeragan hair.

[screwubbaboo]

Boothill's exploring the new mirrored deck, trying to figure out what the fuck is actually going on here, when he hears Aventurine's voice from behind him - except not quite Aventurine, it's close but no cigar. He turns around, getting a look at the man. Blonde hair, shiny pretty eyes - that's definitely Aventurine, but also... the feeling ain't right. The way the man's looking at him is... strange.

"Sorry, pal, I'm Boothill. You lookin' for someone?" He's pretty hard to mix up with anyone else, so he has to wonder who this guy thinks he is.

Robin | Order and harmony edition

[order_dove]

Everything hurts
That's the first thought robin has as she's trying to regain her bearings, "ok you just took a nasty hit and the choir isn't responding to you" she thinks to herself, growing increasingly desperate as she watched from her motionless form as the train begins to loop around "you've taken out three of the nameless, only the genius and the old man left you can do this, we are so close Robin so close! You beat them once you can do it again." as the choir begins to respond to her again she locks eyes with her brother, Sunday, this was all for him, all for Sunday to have a better world, a place he can sing and dance and paint all he wants, then why WHY was he so insistent on tearing it down, how could he not see this was for him!?! She screamed at her limbs to move but they didn't respond quickly enough, as the train closed in she braced herself for impact

Mirror mirror

It didn't feel like the first shot she took, nor the second nor the third. It felt hard and solid, she felt like she was being squished from all sides against a wall as her vision continues to blur, her head was spinning, was she dead?? Could she even die? These thoughts and a million more raced through her head as she is pushed through the mirror into a strange and alien world.

She looks around and sees mirror, so many fucking mirrors, "was this purgatory? Did they actually manage to kill me?" Her thoughts where racing a million miles and hour before she landed on one, Sunday, she needed Sunday, that's the last thought she has before attempting to reach out to the harmony, her injuries very well could turn fatal if she didn't heal them quickly so she attempts to pick herself up off the ground and lay her back against the mirror chosing to ignore the concerning amount of blood that was pooling around her.

"I can worry about what sort of purgatory this is later just now, focus on the wounds" she mutters to herself as she attempts to use her path energy to at least close some of the wounds, she can deal with disinfection later. She was probably alone here it was purgatory after all and some sort of self reflection type at that, wonderful just wonderful. She feels her eyes growing tired by the second, how long has it been since she slept? She couldn't remember, surely a quick rest would be fine assuming she was alone here. She rationalizes to herself as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off in the small puddle of her own golden and crimson blood not hearing the distant signs of movement as the others where arriving as well.

Mirror Mirror

[harmoniousconsecration]

Sunday had spent the last few hours searching for someone, anyone. Calling out for those he knew, and finding only his reflection in response was driving him more than a little crazy. Was there truly no one else, or was this deck so vast and confusing that no one could find each other? He worries, fears for the others. He misses the comfort of Fou-Lu's presence. It was hard to make out anyone in a sea of mirrors that only ever displayed himself at various angles. The halovian felt all too exposed, watched, intently perceived under his own gaze.

Sunday freezes at a familiar shape on the floor, a blackened mirror behind her. Blood pooled everywhere, along with that reflective water. It stained her clothes, her skin. He doesn't focus on how strange her limbs are. He doesn't wonder if this could be yet another trick from that fool.

"Robin...?"

His sister was here and she was hurt and he needed to help her and and and-- The thought of losing her pains him. Sunday tears towards Robin, falling to his knees next to her still frame, reaching for her face, hoping to see her chest rise and fall, to feel her breath on his hand. He notices her breathing, and relaxes, but only barely.

"Robin... Robin, please wake up..."

His heart catches in his throat. He needs her awake and responding, at the very least. He reaches for her shoulder to gently shake her, to rouse her and see her awake and hear her voice again---

If she were dying. If this was all he could have of her--- It was unthinkable. Frightening. His hands tremble.

Sunday | Honkai: Star Rail

[harmoniousconsecration]

Mirrors
He'd... met something of a double, of himself. A version of himself not quite so bound, restricted. They'd spoken, if only briefly, with Sunday having asked this... alternate version of him to use a name, any other name, aside from his own, having little desire to have the other passengers on the ship associate him with someone so rude and sarcastic.

As much as he fears anyone he cares about coming across that man, his biggest problem truly was... Where was he? Where was this? It was a strange deck, unlike any other he'd known of, been on. The scattered black, empty mirrors stare back at him, between rows and walls made of his own reflection, magnifying and warping details.

As Sunday walks through the endless maze of mirrors, possibilities, he finds his eyes sweeping over the reflections they showed. Sometimes his face is strange, distorted into something he can almost recognize. Sometimes he lacks wings, or has several more piercings, and in one strange, glimmering reflection, his wings and halo could have eclipsed the sun. He'd seen himself in IPC uniform, among the Trailblazers, as a superstar not unlike Robin, among the Stellaron Hunters, even as a Knight of Beauty. He sees the Choir, Septimus, the Embryo, the further he walks, the longer he looks.

But the most haunting version of himself had to be the most familiar: his hair slicked back, very similar to Gopher Wood's, a deeply sombre expression. It catches his attention and fills him with dread. He lingers just a little too long, gazing into it. The halovian doesn't hear anyone coming up behind him, too entranced. His arms cross around his chest, hugging himself.

"What is this place..."


In Circles
He needs to find someone he knows. His halo reaches out for someone, anyone, but the reflection--- wrong/reversed/terrifying--- only responds in kind, a distorted echo of his own frequency, piercing through his skull. Sunday runs as it follows, mirrors his every move but just ever so slightly. Reaching, clawing for him, bounding towards him like some strange, single-minded beast.

It frightens him. His normal solution, to tune, to calm this monstrous, unknowable imitation of himself wasn't working here, and... Sunday fears what it might do if it were to catch him. It reaches for him again, and he slaps it away, but not quick enough.

Its hand grips his wrist like a vice, yanking him back towards it. Sunday's heart leaps into his throat, reaching out with his halo again, another attempt to tune, to soothe, to fill its mind with so much noise and pain it can barely act. And maybe... barring that, perhaps the feedback would draw some attention. Someone had to be near, right? He couldn't be the only one trapped in this place.

"Get off me!"

It begins to pull.

A confused dove

[order_dove]

Robin slowly comes to only to be awoken to the sound of feedback from her halo "a harmony pathstrider? Here?? Perhaps I misjudged this realm" she quickly thinks to herself before shakily managing to stand, pain burned through her body, she needs to rest, she needs to stop moving, but she had already pushed herself beyond her limit what's a little bit more walking after all? As blood dried blood caked and cracked against her pants she just focused on each step, "left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot" she hummed to herself as she drew her dagger from the inside of her jacket, best to stay prepared.

She hears footsteps, they don't sound very close but she is certain she's not alone, they are running, twords her? Away from her? She can't tell but she needs to make contact with whoever is here, if it's another choir member perhaps they could be of aid, and if not, if they tried to hurt her, well it wouldn't be the first time she fried someone's mind

"Get off me"

She froze, she knew that voice.
Sunday... Sunday was here!!?! He sounded scared? Worried? Regardless he wasn't sounding like the calm singer she adored and that terrified her. Before she even knew what she was doing her exhausted legs broke out in sprint, if her dear brother was here she could find him, she NEEDED to find him, she could protect him, she HAD to protect him, so she ran, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she was certain he was just around the corner.

Lyney | Genshin Impact

[charmingmisdirection]

Not Enough Doubles

Lyney doesn’t like being shoved out of a mirror and he doesn’t like being surrounded by reflections and no twin. Lynette isn’t here, wherever here is, and hopefully that means she’s safe, but they’re separated and that means he doesn’t know. He’s darting through the mirror-lined rooms, looking everywhere for some sign. “Lynette? Freminet— anyone?”

[chainedcerberus]

Having woken up on one of the couches, Wriothesley's been exploring the new, strange deck when he hears a panicked and familiar voice from the hall. "Mr. Lyney?" He comes out, looking up and down, spotting the young magician. "What are you doing here?" To his knowledge, Lyney wasn't on the boat at all. He's aware that new people do arrive, but at a time like this? Strange.

[meteorsurvivor]

1. Curtain Rise

This particular mirror is notably tall - floor-to-ceiling, separated out into panels about three feet wide each, running the wall of one of the numerous suite rooms.

It's one of the only ones tall enough for the figure that stumbled out of it - armored, white-haired, closer to seven feet than six by no slim margin, and slim everywhere else. The sound of the water flowing out of is accompanied by a heavy crash, as the person in question attempts to catch themselves on something, anything, and in the process sets a stack of leaning mirrors tumbling over with a great and cascading crash of shattering glass.

"Hells," the figure mutters, Their voice is either deep for a woman's or light for a man's, and accented in a way that stinks of a high class upbringing, though perhaps one more recently neglected. They pull themselves up straight, pushing hair out of their face with one hand while the other linger and stops just short of reaching for the polearm held by a quick release to their back.

(It never hurts to be armed in an unknown place, and it never fails to be comforting that such a place hasn't disarmed you, after all.)

Anyone who might be standing around at that time will then be the target of a pale gaze and a pointed, narrow frown. Despite that, the hand very deliberately falls away from the half-reached-for weapon - if Eula has learned anything at all, it's that most people do not provide good information when you speak to them weapons-first. "And what do you know of this?" they ask instead, gaze rolling ov er the scattered bits of broken glass and the dark room in a single sweep.

2. how much longer will this feeling torture me

The halls of mirrors in this place are endless, and after the third time being ambushed by aggressive reflections, Eula has taken to carrying their gunspear loosely at their side rather than leaving it secured to their back. Those few instants are all it takes to turn the tide of combat, after all.

They come to a stop, coming down a hallway, and seeing the leading tip of that spear in the mirror turn into something else, before their own proper reflection has even appeared. Their expression darkens.

"Bad enough to be haunted by the rest," they say to the mirror and the image that hangs just out of sight. "Of course you would appear as well."

With that comment, they step fully into view of the mirror - the reflection cast is of the same height, and perhaps the same build underneath - it's impossible to say, when the image wears armor that is so much heavier than what Eula now wears in reality. The face of the helm is impassive in its monstrous, militant fashion, giving no indication of anything lying underneath.

Despite the appearance, this reflection remains, at least for now, only a reflection - the armor of Nael van Darnus imitates Eula's movements in a completely normal manner, despite the obvious mismatch, and the thicker plates pass into each other where the real thing's slimmer plate allows for greater freedom of movement. Despite this... Well, it's quite the telling tale, for those who know what story it belongs to.

3. so long to you, my beloved traitor

Good things might come to those who wait, but Eula has never been one to neglect the more pertinent help comes to those who help themselves. Accordingly, they have no inclination to simply stand around when there might be more information to be found elsewhere on board the ship.

Up, first - a commander's instinct for getting the lay of the land, whatever it might be. That leads to the open top deck, beneath its protective bubble, and ultimately a better indication of what kind of ship this is, well aside from its size.

... Some kind of indication, at any rate. Aside from the vast open space and the walking legs (one question answered), the first thing that gets Eula's attention is the lack of weapons, of defenses. This is no military craft, nor likely ever was one. And a shipping craft, too, seems unlikely - not with the lines of lounge chairs across the deck and the almost-empty (save for a shallow layer of water at its bottom) pool with steps down into it like an Ishgardian public bath.

Eula can be found wandering around the topdecks investigating these things, or perhaps just staring out at the passing wasteland beyond the bubble - but if you are a person who has a certain air of capability, you might find yourself being called over by a short gesture that's barely more than the curl of a hand and the tilt of a head. Once you've come close enough that it isn't yelling distance, they tilt their head again, this time towards the short structure at the front of the ship.

"What do you think?" they ask, something half-expectant and pleased in their eyes. (They took to the adventuring life all too easily, once upon a time. Some people are just not meant for sitting idle.) "Care to investigate? I mislike the idea of undertaking it without some form of friendly eyes on my back, given that the mirrors have afforded us unfriendly ones aplenty so far."

[[Note: I use they/them for Eula but characters are welcome to assume whatever! If asked they will express not giving a fuck, though not in such words lmao. More info on their appearance and AU can be found on their wip timeline sheet.]]

Curtain Rise

[paladinforhire]

That person is tall. Too tall - an Elezen? Or a -

His question is answered when they push hair out of their face to reveal that damned third eye. Fridtjof had heard the crash, seen someone stumbling through - now he wishes he didn't.

Though maybe it's better to be aware than not. They're not wearing Imperial armor but they're too armored to just be a civilian. He knows - he knows - that those not in the army are people too. He knows most of the army doesn't even want to serve, that they're conscripts.

That doesn't stop him from feeling sick as he sees them. His hand instinctively goes towards his weapon before he forcibly and noticeably stops it from moving.

"I know information about this place. Less this floor if it - we've all been moved here without our knowledge."

Kairi | Cowboy Folktales AU Kingdom Hearts

[radiantvengence]

Arrival

Kairi has been moving forward, regardless of warnings for a while.

It happens when Kairi enters the canyon, dark figure still riding just out of reach. There's an out of place chill in the air, the scent of moisture like standing by the oasis when the sun hits it, but she ignores it.

There's warnings, in a place like this, but she's beyond listening to warnings. So she keeps riding.

The canyon stretch out, higher and higher, darker and darker, the black coat and steed blending into shadows. Only the glimmer of half light on graying hair acts as an anchor in that dark.

The air, too, grows thicker. Beyond humidity, beyond warnings, until the ghost of the sea long gone presses itself into the air.

Thicker, darker, until barreling down the path Kairi rides straight into- a water's surface? Its hard, and cold and foreignly smooth, like nothing she's ever felt. Like nothing at all.

It shatters her into a thousand crumbling shards, each of them still marshalling all the others, even still to keep going. After all, that man is so close-

-you can have to make it, you have to-

-go home, to see that-

-you can never go home again, its burned down to the last ember, waters reeking of rot-

-but home isn't there, you just need to help Riku, save him-

-stop that man, make him undo his curse-

-because home is your friends, your pack-

-and you can never be alone again-

Something- breaks, and water, suddenly all too real spills around her. Kairi pants there, hands on knees, black spotted vision slowly coming back into vivid color.

What of it there is, anyway. The glimmer of water at Kairi's feet draws her eyes upward, and then, a pivot all around. Mirrors. Everywhere.

All but one place: behind her, there is only darkness. A conspicous Absence of mirrors.

Kairi is not a foolish traveler, head in the sands. For all that she avoids the topic of such things, she knows when things have gone awry. Her gaze skitters across the dozens of not quite right reflections.

She swallows, and bares her teeth in a smile. She can't stop here though. If she's here. then that man...

Kairi steps forward.

Mirror Mirror

CW for some parasite body horror stuff.

(Even without the Growth around... life finds a way.)

The endless halls are, somehow, far more unsettling than Kairi expected. Her hand hovers over her holster as she strides slowly forth. The only way she tell where walls are is from all the mirror frames. As she moves, a few dozen shadows move with her.

There's so many. Kairis with a longsword, heavy on her back, dust stained hands. A Kairi with jacket lined with a pelt she can't quite bring herself to look at. So many Kairis with a lighter heart, clothes in brighter pink.

And there are worse shadows. Ones with wrapped wounds, black rot dripping from the bandage. And-

One shadow, her clothes all shades of black and purple, meets her own eyes, gold glinting.

Kairi freezes in place as the other her steps forward, silvery water splashing down as she, it approaches.

This other her clearly had no hangups about that man's offer. She stinks of the rot destroyed Kairi's every home, and. Kairi would gag if she could get herself to move. Her clothes aren't clothes, but the rot making itself at home. Its mushrooms, and fungi, eating away at her. Granting oh so much power at the cost of parts of yourself. What looks like patterns on the suit are the rots spread, as it digs in deep. (If you look closely, you can through the body in places.)

She can't look away. Kairi literally can't in every direction this reminder of everything wrong with Riku stares at her with golden reflected eyes.

...Kairi needs to get out of here. She needs to shoot that imposter and run-

Shadows in Reflection

To help her friends she'll go anywhere.

Kairi not sure just how long she's wandering the halls of this place when she finally catches sight of her goal.

A black duster, striding out from the shadows around the corner, reflected on the walls. It was warped and shadowed by how many times the figure had been reflected but-

Kairi picked up her pace, one hand on her holster.

When she turned the corner, a hand whipped out and pulled her forward, off balance.

(It was him.)

(Wasn't it?)

(ooc: side note, in 10 more seconds she WILL shoot fake xehanort)

Mirror Mirror

[dandelion_virus]

Brain has spent too much time staring at reflections of himself that just aren't him. They could have been. Had Master Ava not chosen him to be apart of her defiance. Had he not made it out of the Digital Daybreak Town. Had he-- Brain closes his eyes.

Continuing down the hall he's in, he aimlessly wanders down it without daring to glance at any mirror he passes. And, eventually, when he does open his eyes, he comes across an even more horrifying sight.

Darkness.

Maybe? This Darkness looks different, but the taste in the air is the same. It looks like a disease, with the way it distorts. Brain doesn't need more reasoning than that.

He sees the girl standing still. Frozen in place. It's a reflection of her. But that's not so farfetched. Brain has seen how Darkness can come in many forms.

So he runs, he jumps, and with one tug at the keychain on his belt, he musters up the energy for Noble Spirits.

Plunging into the reflection of this girl, he lets it's body act as the anchor. Light erupts from the ground around it, and in an instant it's gone. All that's left is the unsettling not-water that is already polished and shining the image of himself back at him as he looks down at it.

Brain breaths. Then he shakes his hand dry and turns to look back at Kairi. He tips his hat to her with the hand that isn't wet, and reaches it out to her. "You alright?"

Skadi of the corrupting heart| Arknight AU

[corruptedhearts]

Arrival

The pressure forcing itself against her is not the pressure of the deep ocean, or the pressure of a landship’s stride. It is new, unfamiliar, strange. It presses her unpleasantly against a smooth surface and does not relent.

She adapts, evolves, presses through the surface and lands on the floor in a boneless slump. Water pouring around her in a comforting wash, puddle forming around her as she simply… lays there, waiting, listening. Eventually, she sits up and considers the now blackened surface, the strange new environment she has been thrust into.

Ah well. She pulls herself up, humming along to the song ever whispering through her veins. She will adapt, evolve, in this new place she will find ways to be. The sudden change would scare some, anger others, enrage the few. The woman she once was, might have lashed out at the world until it broke into a shape more pleasing.

She knows better now, it’s not that important.

Humming softly, her ethereal voice echoing far beyond simple sound, a choir of one… she sets out to explore.

Idle

When not wandering the deck, exploring without cause or goal, Skadi will slip down to the lowest layer and sit herself on the floor. Fingers idly stirring the water pooling there, her song echoing out across the open space. She will great any who she finds there with a smile and an invitation to sit with her, and listen to her songs. To converse, and shed their worries if she perceives that they are carrying any.

I debated which for awhile. Just gonna throw both. (Arrival)

[sanktawithashotgun]

Amongst the chaotic reverberations through his halo in this mirrored place, something...new starts to trickle in. Like a whisper. Like dripping water that turns into a stream in the time you forget to watch it.

A...song? He's used musical theory to explain halo resonances before, but this is the first time it's been truly melodic. Welcoming even. Welcoming to what? They even soothe the pain of the discordant frequencies around here, to a degree. The pain he'd grown used to actually abates.

Executor heads toward the source before he even realizes he's doing it, his steady patrols losing their focus and becoming meandering, curious. He blinks, shaking himself. That's...dangerous. Arturia's arts work in a similar manner. Her songs never seemed to work on him, however. So what is this...?

Only one way to find out. So he heeds the call, listening to the melody ebb and flow as he walks, a hand steady on his gun.

He eventually comes to a clearing, a wider area with mirrors surrounding it, like a great stage, all while a figure in red sways in the middle. The melody echoes and surrounds her, as if embracing her, all while she moves with an eerie smoothness that's almost too perfect to be natural.

The strangest part? He recognizes this woman. His fingers twitch against the handle of his gun.

"...Operator Skadi?"

Uncertainty.

[bedguy]

A thunderous thud slams on the floor; anyone looking over can tell that an entire bed has just torn through a mirror.

Looking closely, there appears to be a strange figure sleeping on the bed. The bed begins to shift ever so gently, like if it were alive...

Four wheels emerge from the bottom of the bed with massive spikes all around attaching themselves to the bed's legs, followed by two longer legs at the foot of the bed that begin to stand vertically. A massive hand emerges from beneath the box springs and attempts to adjust the figures' glasses.

While the hand adjusts the glasses, a gigantic sphere with a king's crown emerges from the head of the bed, supported by what appears to be a giant spinal cord. The sphere has two eyelike designs with a cross in the center serving as an iris

The bed has a body fixed with two large nails to the mattress.

He comes too and realizes that he's nowhere near the Backyard? (OOC: essentially like a realm that holds all the code/DNA of his universe) no. there's a clear absence of it, like it was never there to begin with? but more importantly, where are we?

The head-like apparatus attached to the darts around looking for any signs of familiarity but is unsure about anything at the time. It takes notice of the other souls in its periphery but does not consider any of them a threat? More of an interest or something to discover and understand.

[unihilism]

Jesus, Malos once again wishes the blade network was up, because everything about, uh, this screams blade to him. Or maybe a blade eater gone wrong...

Probably not a blade, though, knowing this ship. So.

"Wow, hi," he says, tone almost deadpan. "That's... that sure is a lot you have going on, there."

BABY MARIO

[itsbabymario]

BABY

There is a baby in the halls of the ship.

The baby is dressed exactly like Mario is - same hat and all, though this hat is a little too big for him. Presumably, he'll grow into it.

The baby seems completely unpreterbed to be on the ship, or surrounded by mirrors, or anything. He is happily slapping away at the mirrors, highfiving them - visions of him in different outfits, or different ages, golden or silver or wearing silly koala ears, and he's just laughing and highfiving them all as he runs past the mirrors. Is he... having fun??


KIDNAPPING

Baby Mario is facing off against a much larger, regular Mario sized shallow reflection - something which is twice his height. He doesn't seem perturbed at all, laughing as the larger Mario picks him up and holds him over his head. They are heading back towards the mirror that the shallow reflection came out of. Baby Mario laughs like this is just a game. Unfortunately, he has reasons to trust his older self. Unfortunately, that means he is going to get dragged into the mirror if someone doesn't stop this.


PUDDLES

Baby Mario is laughing and splashing in the puddles of reflective water. Is that safe? Do any of us know? Baby Mario doesn't care. He jumps in it so it makes a big splash. Then he laughs again. The reflections of Marios around him in the mirrors laughing along only encourages him.

This is a far cry, also, from the Ship's actual Mario, who has been scared of puddles, lately.

(KIDNAPPING) I've been wanting him to do some swoopening this is perfect-

[sarkazwithascythe]

You know you would think a laughing child would be no cause for concern. A reason to smile even!

The figure in the shadows does not smile. Its eyes narrow as the...creature runs around with the child. So small, at the mercy of these untrustworthy creatures. What calamity could have befallen him? He's headed for another one if he's forced through that mirror. They're everywhere, and every single one raises his hackles with the sheer wrongness of them.

So when the creature runs by, there's a flap of wings, and a dark figure swoops in and snatches the little child from its clutches, bringing him close to his chest under the fluffy cloak he wears, safe as he glides back down to a somewhat unsteady landing. He's not...completely healed yet.

Grey-blue eyes peer curiously down at the child in his arms, at the overly large red hat, blinking. "Bambino. Where are your parents? Guardians?"

Federico Giallo || Arknights AU (TW uuuh injuries, restraints, implied dehumanization?? Yea)

[sarkazwithascythe]

T̵̟̊h̴͕̆r̷̘̕o̸̠̓u̷̠̓g̸̖̑h̷͖̓ ̶͕̉t̷̖͒h̵̤̋e̷̪͛ ̴̖͒L̴̟̈́ò̵͖o̶̡͆k̵̟̓ị̶̒n̵̻͊g̶̘̈́ ̶͙̂G̷̹͋l̴̟̊a̷̦͠s̶̻̓s̷̭͋

Pain is a tether. It keeps him here, but it will not keep him down.

Federico’s senses flicker in and out, body sluggish from the agony coursing through his limbs. The ropes dig into his wrists, his ankles, his tail—his tail—they had tied it down, pulling it taut to keep him still. His wings too, pinned against his back, bound so tightly he could barely breathe.

Arturia.

Where is she?

A growl builds deep in his throat, muffled by the gag. The metal bites against his skin, his teeth clamping down sharp and useless on it. His pulse slams against his skull as he rolls onto his side, wrenching at his bindings. The world spins, nausea curdling in his gut, but he forces his body to obey.

The sarkaz blinks, eyes narrowing. The ground is wrong. Too smooth, too reflective, shifting like glass but slick like water.Almost transparent...it reflects him but also he can see something--else. His weight presses into it, and for a terrible moment, he feels himself sink.

Something is pushing against him, flattening his painfully bound appendages against the bizarre surface. He writhes against the invisible force, but the pressure only builds builds builds-- he can't-- breathe-- he distantly notes he was on the ground before. Why does it feel like he's upright? What is happening?!

Then the world pops, like a soap bubble bursting. With it, his entire body plummets. He sucks in lungfuls of air, the gag still in place but his tail somehow freed from what was binding it to the floor.

Arturia!

He thrashes, twisting, looking everywhere for a way out, for his captors, for his soror- his Sarkaz tail lashing wildly, wings instinctively flaring against the ropes binding them. Hurts. He needs to get free. The shift in setting had stolen the last of his composure—his movements are no longer calculated, no longer contained. His shoulders scream from the strain, there's dark infected blood seeping from his wounds into the reflective pools below him, but he will not fail here.

He can use this pain is a tether. But to where? Where is he? Where is she?!

He hears someone nearby. Grey-blue eyes flash, and he turns to look at you, growling. There's a metal bit in his mouth he can't talk around, but he lurches toward you, all desperate determination for...something.

((If you know Federico Giallo, the boat's resident Executor, you'll probably recognize him, but...wrong. Instead of a black halo over his head, there are obsidian horns curling up from his head. Instead of shard-like wings, there are great, large, bat-like wings sprouting from his back, straining against the restraints imposed on him. There's also a large black tail thrashing around.

He's clothed in white and black, but the only red is the dark blood smeared on his person. The cloak itself looks...fluffy? Warm. Maybe a bit damp right now. Not very uniform-like at all, at least not what would be issued from the holy city of Laterano. His body language screams desperation and upset, possibly even anger? A far cry from Executor Federico's composed, analytical nature. He's also pretty battered. Help him out? Or not, I'm not the boss of you.))

Operator Operator

[corruptedhearts]

The red eyes that look back at Federico are utterly placid, not a trace of fear in them as he lunges at her and she raises her arms up and... catches him. Her hands wrap around his outstretched arms, and she drags him into a hug with a soft hum. A hum that echos and resonates not through the mirrored halls, but one that seems to seep through his body and echo in his blood. Calming perhaps, a song that Federico once might have been able to hear, but can no longer.

"You seem familiar..." she speaks, still holding him with the monstrous strength she possesses, "Are you alright?"

Clara | Honkai: Star Rail

[promisenotcommand]

(ARRIVAL) The world is spinning, the sun is so bright.

Ow, ow, ow!

The sudden pushing sensation at Clara's back was startling enough, but the pain she feels when up against this mirrored surface is enough to knock the air from her lungs. And boy does it hurt. It's nothing like scraping her knee on the rocky mountain surface! It's might be close, but it's also dissimilar to the blows dealt to her when she's protecting her friends.

If she was in a fight, throwing herself in the way of harm to protect others... then there are two things horrifyingly absent: One, Mr. Svarog, who she would never stray far from. Two, the sense of clarity she carries herself with that everything will be okay in the end. No, instead there was dread. Overwhelming dread that threatened to burst the moment that this pain ceased.

And all at once it did cease. The pain, the dread, the weight at her back that pushed and pushed and pushed--

Clara falls to the floor in a crumpled mess, her knees catching the force of it. There's a puddle at her feet, though a stark lack of actually being wet. The young girl's mind kicks back into gear long before her body does, a dull ache still gripping her deep to the bones.

Where is she? It's hard to tell, not just because Clara has never seen a cruise ship in her life, but because she was surrounded by mirrors. Everywhere her ruby colored eyes flicked, only her reflection stared back.

Panic settled in once the aching stopped. "Mr. Svarog!?" Clara yelps, pushing herself to her feet. Which, that's strange in and of itself, as some of the reflections don't deign to mirror her movements. One seems to be delayed by a few seconds while another is still, unmoving.

Her voice cracks as she calls out again: "Hello!?!"


(REFLECTION) A happy face of me; It's not a nightmare, just some nonsense.

Clara has mustered up enough courage to step outside of the room that she fell into. Which, that was a whole feat and a near panic attack on it's own. But, she would be brave! For Mr. Svarog! For herself! For her family back home! (Because she was most certainly not home)

She nearly screams when all she's met with is more mirrors.

What is going on????

Okay. Well. Obviously there's no one around but herself. So she's going to have to figure this out on her own! Which that's, fine, in theory.

First things first, she goes up and waves sheepishly to the first reflection that looks off. This one has dark bags under her eyes. Her hair is messier, shorter, it's cut off at the shoulders. Her clothing is ripped and she's wearing more than three layers. She's wearing purple toned metal armor.

"Hello... me?" Clara whispers. Though the reflection doesn't say anything back, it's movements are almost sharper, more sure.

"I dunno if you're different than me... but something's going on and I don't know what."

And then this reflection smiles. Clara's not smiling. Why is it doing that? Why is it pressing it's hand up toward the glass?? Clara leaps backward, shrieking. It's no longer following her movements, instead it's phasing through the mirror.

Clara falls on her butt before she can end up backed against another mirror on the opposite wall. A handful of other mirrors are warping in kind, almost as if the hardened gaze of the other Clara spurred them into motion.

"Help!"


(WANDERING) Let us focus on getting through the day.

Soft footsteps hit the marbled floor running. Clara needs to get away from these mirrors. Anywhere, anyplace she can find that isn't wall to wall with her reflection. She goes up a flight of stairs, if only to sate the voice in her head urging her that "Higher ground is safer, you can gain your bearings that way, just like Mr. Svarog taught you."

She bolts through the dual doors to the top deck. Fresh air, at last! But... whether she meets someone also here, or happens to crash right into them is up to you.


(WILDCARD)

[Hit me up if none of these work! I'm very excited for Clara to figure her way around this strange horror funland!]

wandering

[screwubbaboo]

Boothill was just heading back down from doing some recon on the top deck when the doors fly open and a small figure races through them, slamming into his metal legs before he has a chance to stop them. "Oof! Woah there, li'l lady. You alright? Somethin' chasin' ya?"

He pulls his gun and points it at the doors, just waiting for something hostile to show its nose.

Aquaman/Arthur Curry | Batman: The Brave and the Bold

[italktofish]

[Arrival]
"GREAT NEPTUNE!" There was, of course, a shout of surprise once Arthur found himself emerging from that mirror. There's no fear there, just surprise. Why should he be bothered by water, of all things, and a strange and bizarre situation that was undoubtedly the gateway to a new adventure? "I think I'll call this one...THE TIME I ENDED UP IN A WEIRD FISH TANK IN A WEIRD ROOM!" He pauses, frowns to himself. "No, no...that just doesn't have the right ring to it." But hey, he decided he'd figured it out as he confidently strode away from the mirror from which he'd emerged, too focused on going forward to bother with seeing where he'd come from. He'd seen a lot of strange things in his life, why stress over it?

[MIRROR DOPPLEGANGER?!]
It is not long before Arthur finds himself presented with a terrible and twisted mirror doppleganger. He does not react with fear, far from it. "AHA! THIS MUST BE ONE OF MIRROR MASTER'S DEVIOUS PLOTS!" And he very eagerly rushes forward to do heroic battle with that warped funhouse version of him, swinging a heroic punch, and...

...so sorry, the doppleganger has gone flying and it is flying directly at you, whoops.

Throws gargoyle (doppelganger!)

[sarkazwithascythe]

There's a figure cloaked in shadow, watching. They're crouched on top of one of the larger mirrors, affecting the position of a gargoyle, all dramatic and mysterious-like.

He tilts his head when this person continues to shout. Or is this just how he speaks? Federico was drawn by the noise, and stayed to watch, assuming this level of noise would draw more attention. Potentially of the troublesome kind...

Sure enough. The man shouts more and comes into conflict with a reflection of himself. Mirror master? What is-

The thing is sailing toward him. Ah.

There's a quiet shhk sound as a large curved blade appears, the Messengers scythe slicing the abberant reflection clean in half. It melts into a puddle of quicksilver.

Steely Grey-blue eyes stare intently at you. "You are...incredibly noisy. It could draw more threats." And could make this newcomer one by association. Concerning.

AtP!Namine Arrives

[notyourwitch]

The Arrival

It was if she were being shoved through a dark corridor that was open to somewhere otherwise closed off. A painful, shocking pressing she cannot escape from. There is no going back.

Namine has no recollection of how she got to be in this predicament. Had she been asleep? Had she gone in for a data check?

She stumbles into ... well, this sure is a place.

It is like Castle Oblivion, if you replaced all of the white walls with mirrors.

She once saw one of Aqua's memories that looked like this.

This is certainly one of the stranger places she's ever been. And definitely the strangest method of getting here. No star shard or feather to transport her. Not even the usual feeling of a dark corridor. For had that been a dark corridor? When a place is closed off, you can't get through.

She thinks, briefly, about forming a dark corridor and going back home. But someone or something went through the trouble of getting here in the first place and she'd rather not go home only to repeat the process again later.

This is not the first time she's arrived somewhere for no other reason than it is where she's supposed to be.

Reflections

Namine turns around to get a better look at where she is. Despite being in a room full of mirrors, the mirror she stepped out of is... blank? Like a non-reflective piece of glass. Except it looks like it is a mirror and it should reflect.

But it doesn't.

Odd.

She moves to another mirror.

At first, she is somewhat horrified to see the bags under her eyes and the unkempt nature of her hair. A second glance reveals that the mirror "her" is wearing that old plain white dress from her days in Castle Oblivion. The Namine in the mirror is haunted like Namine herself once was. Namine reaches out to place her hand on the mirror. The other Namine mirrors her motions. Can Namine pull this past version of herself out? Does she want to?

Though it pains her, Namine moves away to another mirror.

While the first couple of reflections would have her think she were looking at her past, it quickly becomes apparent that these are all alternate versions of herself. She has a Keyblade in one of them, for instance. In another, she looks more like Kairi than herself. In still another, she looks like she may be a Sorceress like Rinoa?

She starts looking for one alternative version of herself in specific. One she's met before. Is she here, as well? Can Namine pull her out if she finds her?

A Bad Time

To Namine's horror, what, or rather, who she finds first is a version of herself that looks too much like Larxene for comfort. Her hair is cut short, she wears a cloak.

But this reflection mirrors her the same as any of the others.

And then she doesn't.

Like pushing an invisible curtain aside, this twisted Namine pushes herself out of the mirror she was trapped in. If she was trapped at all. Behind her, the mirror goes black.

She has knives in her hand like Larxene carries. Namine pulls out her own dagger and tells herself she did not choose this weapon to be like Larxene.

The twisted Namine raises her hand, as if to call lightning, but none comes. Namine suddenly has fear that she will have no magic either.

She reaches for the first ability she always does: memories.

She senses none.

Or, perhaps, the twisted Namine is not a true being, and therefore has no memories to sense.

Namine casts Blizzard instead.

That works.

The twisted Namine is frozen in place, the look on her face something between a sneer and a pout.

"I fought the real Larxene and came away unscathed! You do not scare me!"

The Blizzard spell wears off and Namine knows she should have cast something stronger. The twisted Namine laughs a horrible Larxene-esque laugh.

Namine draws her own dagger and lunges, hoping to shove this twisted reflection back into the mirror she came from.

BAD TIME BAD TIME

[notyournamine]

You've found her, and you didn't even have to pull her out of a mirror, Namine. You've found her, because she heard your voice, and she came running. Another Namine's voice - hopefully a good sign, because at least that's someone real, and not one of these - reflections. God, she hopes it's someone real.

And then, the laugh - Namine skids to a stop, all of her hair standing on end when she hears it.

"No, no, NO!" she screams. Because. "That's not you. That's - me."

At least when the shadowy Namine goes to cast lightning, none comes. Tears of relief well up in Namine's eyes. But she's still rooted to the spot, watching the other Namine fight - bad - bad - hasn't she hurt everyone enough, already?!

"Just - t- tell me what you need - me - to do," she stutters out, and raises her hands to cast - she doesn't know what - everything is gone from her mind. "Fuck - this is not how - I wanted - not like this..."

Rouge the Bat | Sonic the Hedgehog (games)

[heart_stopping]

Tap a rhythm against the floor

Rouge grunts when she comes to. Whatever got her must've got her good, because all she can feel is the pressure of something cold against her whole body. But apparently, that 'bot must not've been happy enough with the job because when she first tries to shift to glare back at it, she finds out quickly that she can't. And as that thought processes, so does the steady increase in pressure. And it's a bizarre pressure, one that feels like that time she grabbed a turtle to swim against a current on a treasure hunt, the water slowly starting to test the limits of her ability to hold her breath, the current and depth alike placing just enough pressure against her before—

—releasing her at the other end of the path, just like now. Like breaching the surface, the water tension splitting over fur and skin, but this time Rouge is facing ahead rather than swimming upward. The toe of her boot skims the dampened floor as her wings snap open with another scattering of water to lift up some foot or so above it as she whips around to see where she's come from, because this sure as anything doesn't look like where she was before. It doesn't look like anywhere she's been lately, even, especially not with the water.

And a mirror without a reflection is just as bizarre.

Also pretty worthless, if anyone asked her.

With a toss of her head, Rouge casts her gaze about for something more useful than a solid black not-mirror, and in so-doing catches the rocking motion of what has to be a vessel's movement before she decides to set down. It takes a second to get used to, wings flapping to make sure she stays upright, and a heel disturbs the puddle left in the wake of her... emergence or whatever it is.

"And I thought the White Space was strange..." she mumbles, cautiously continuing her survey of the room. Folding her arms loosely across her middle, she lets her weight shift, tapping the toe of one heart-tipped boot against the marble-like floor. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere, huh? Not really the sort of shiny she's typically drawn to, unfortunately.

"You know," she announces with a frown, "I'm getting really tired of forces pulling me this way and that. I decide where I go."

And with that, almost like a personal punctuation, she stomps her way out of the room, fully intent on figuring out a way out of here. The mirror's not likely, given its new look, but maybe there's someone here who can answer that question for her.

To look for another door

She does not like this place, Rouge decides. It's dreary as anything—better suited to someone of Shadow's persuasion than hers. A clear night where she can slip between the shadows on the hunt... That'd be better. Or somewhere nice!

Maybe once she gets out, she'll badger try to convince Shadow to go to the beach with her. Omega, too, if he isn't on assignment and wants (might not be much for him to do other than obliterate watermelons or beach balls, so maybe somewhere else).

Wherever she is right now, though, she can't help but think back to stories about Chaos. She hadn't been in town for that particular event, but she'd read about it: a watery god of destruction, thunder, rain, and lightning, the danger of rising waters once he'd acquired the power of the Chaos Emeralds... But the description she'd gotten from Sonic and the others had been... sad. A protector abused by Eggman. She grimaces at that thought, opting to blame the dreary weather and the ubiquitousness of water where it isn't supposed to be, turning in place to walk backward a few steps as she holds her gaze upward.

...And then of course: mirrors. Entirely too many of them, even for her. It's actually pretty disorienting, which is part of why she's tried to look up to avoid the headache all that is invariably going to cause, but in so doing she, uh. Rather narrowly avoids running directly into someone, hearing their footsteps before seeing them.

"Hey!" But it's a person, so she can at least ask questions.

I am slipping into the mystery of the night

Wildcard! Got an idea? Something based on another prompt? I'm game!

to look for another door

[unihilism]

"Hey yourself," Malos snaps. "It's not like I was trying to sneak around!" It's dark. He's dark. Er, minus the faintly glowing purple gem in his chest, anyway. He also takes up most of the hallway, but let's not be reasonable about this, here, no way.

"Who the hell - " Actually, maybe he knows this... Person? Blade? Maybe anthropomorphic animals are just like, normal in her world. Any memory he had of where he might recognize her from slips away. " - I can't believe we're still getting new people on this fucking boat!"

Thancred Waters | Final Fantasy: XIV

[thickerthanwaters]

[ CW for brief mention of death and panic attacks. I didn't think how badly Thancred was going to go through it until I sat down and started writing hhhghhf ]

(ARRIVAL) Amplified in the silence.

Slow, rhythmic, mechanical whirring and the sound of water rushing is all he hears. He's passing through a dark corridor, as if being pulled across the rift again. And... that's not right. He just got back to the Source. Just recovered from the immense fatigue his body was plagued with after only being a soul adrift for so long. Where would he be going? Certainly not to another shard, he hopes.

Thancred is a man built for pain. So the crushing weight on his shoulders is less of a surprise and more of a certainty. He pushes onward, forward, to the end of this vision. Because he's obviously being pulled somewhere. The pressure grows heavier, and he's crushed to the ground of this void he's in. He sees the exit, he crawls.

He tumbles forward and out of the mirror. The light flickers in the room he's rushed into, and he turns to face where he came from only to see no reflection staring back.

"What the hells?" He wheezes, tentatively rapping his knuckles against the blackened glass. Whatever pressure pushed him through it now prevents him from going back. "Hmph."

Every wall he turns to face is a ceiling to floor set of four mirrors each. The only one different being the mirror he just came out of. The way they each refract the blue light coming from Thancred's aether imbued tools are all different, too. Like a color filter has been put over each one, and can't reflect properly.

The hyur stands, and he leans in close to the nearest one. He has to be dreaming, right? They always say that mirrors don't work correctly in dreams. That would explain why the one he is looking into is so distorted. It has to be.

Except... he feels real. He spent the most time outside of his body, 5 years on the First without the weight of flesh. He wagers that he would be able to tell the distinction between it before any of the other Scions.

Well. If the hair standing on the back of his neck is anything to go by, he has no time to be pondering his circumstances. It's a quick reach to wrap his calloused palm around the gunblade at his back, perfectly sculpted to mimic the one he had.

He shifts his weight to one foot, turns, lunges. The crack! that resounds in the otherwise silent room is nearly deafening as the gunblade pierces through one of the mirrors on the opposite wall. But... that's all that was there. Just a mirror, now a scattered spiderweb of broken glass. Thancred retracts the weapon, careful not to waste a cartridge as he does. Crystalline pieces fall against his boots. Thancred huffs. He stares into the broken mirror.

Several different reflections stare back.

Something's wrong.

(REFLECTIONS) Let me watch you as close as a memory.

Stepping out into the hall, Thancred laughs when all he's met with is more godsdamned mirrors. They litter the walls, some are pristine and polished, others hang off one hook and look as though they'd threaten to fall if so much as a draft picks up.

"What kind of man do you have to be to want this many mirrors." Thancred muses to himself.

"Someone who isn't afraid of what he would see looking back at him." A voice replies.

Thancred's hand tightens around the hilt of his blade. He turns to the source of the voice, his voice. "Who's there?" Thancred bites out, but no reflection seems keen on speaking out of turn. It came from down the hall, so he stalks toward it. Hazel and white eyes flicking every which way to find the culprit. Most of the Thancreds are just like him. Others share small differences: A few have the same color in both eyes. Another still has his hair long.

Thancred stops in front of one in particular.

It's... himself. But not. The figure is taller, paler. Almost sin eater in nature. Several gold sets of wings flutter behind it, a halo behind that. It's gaze is hollow, un-moving, face half obscured by the red-scaled... scarf... No, that's-- Is that supposed to be him and Ran'jit? As one? That's an awful thought to dwell on. So he shakes his head and continues on, careful not to let his guard down while wallowing. He can do that while walking, thank you very much.

It's hard not to stop and stare at each one. As he continues on, more and more warp to alternatives of what he was, could have, would be. He sees himself as a scrawny little kid, eyes somehow still bright despite the gnawing hunger. He sees what he can only assume is his future self, but the mirror is blurred, as if he wasn't allowed to see that outcome. Another stands lifeless, a reality where he didn't survive the fight against Ran'jit in Amh Areng.

These all strike something unpleasant in Thancred, sure. But what bothers the hyur more is the fact that he sees something else. In between the lines, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minfilia. It's his brain tricking him, the light catching wrong to feed him delusions, but it's getting to him.

He just reconciled with her being gone for good. Had come to terms with that quite well, in fact! So why is it that he still sees her? Here, in this unfamiliar place?

That voice rings out in the hall again, laughing. "You're slipping, Thancred." It drawls. And this time it's so close that Thancred can see where it's coming from. Where the hallway turns into a lounge, empty save for a couch and a table. There, on the far wall, is a grand and tall mirror. And in it stands Lahabrea.

It's easy to tell that the figure isn't actually Thancred. It wears his face and speaks in his voice, yes. But that's not him. The moment Thancred realizes this, the figure seems to ripple in the glass, and-- sure enough --Those black and purple robes hang from it's body. The sight freezes Thancred in place. Seeing those robes mimicking his movements again, it-- it's sickening.

He feels eyes all around him, looking at him, laughing at him. His breathing grows quick in his chest. His knuckles go white from how hard he's gripping his gunblade. Why can't he just smash this mirror like he did the one before? What's stopping him?

He can't move.

(RESTING) Trying to find a signal fire.

Shallow reflections of himself had been coming at him left and right, falling into puddles not seconds later as he strikes them down. It's slower to be doing without using the cartridges, but he doesn't dare waste them on something so soon. Thancred jokes, in his head, that this would be great grounds for a training session, to test one's own strength against themself, but Thancred would have preferred some warning before all of this.

He knows he's not dreaming anymore because, well. Thancred doesn't think you can feel all that much pain in your dreams, and the bruising on his left eye smarts. One of the last waves of reflections got the upper hand on him when he wasn't looking and punched him square in the face. It didn't survive much longer after that, but he's been nursing the black eye he's bound to get since then.

They've since stopped, for now, but Thancred keeps his head on a swivel every couple of minutes.

He's resting against a wall that has less mirrors than the rest. One knee tucked up to support the arm kept up to his eye, the other leg crossed under it.

It's not that he wants to be resting. But this place is a nightmare. A sick joke. And he's praying to any god that can listen that none of his friends are here. He wouldn't wish any of them to go through this game of tricks.

Especially not Ryne. He didn't dare imagine what reflections would greet the poor girl.

Thancred lets out a tired, delirious laugh.

Resting

[paladinforhire]

A swirl of white magic surrounds the gunbreaker, healing his injuries. A viera in robes holsters his staff once that's done and walks over to Thancred, smiling slightly.

"Was wondering if you'd show up, Thancred. ... Unless you don't know me, in which case... hello... stranger." He sighs and just shakes his head. "It's complicated and involves different versions of the same shard, but either way it's good to see you."

Fridtjof sits nearby, not too close so that Thancred still feels he has space. "And before you think I'm lying, I know where the wild rose blooms."

Executor Federico Giallo || Arknights || About a day or two into the event

[sanktawithashotgun]

(This is all happening soon after. This. Federico is running through the mirrored maze at full speed, breathing frantic, eyes wild and unseeing. The normally composed, clinical sankta's face is drenched with tears.

Maybe you see him run by. Maybe he clips you on the way down the hall, the momentum sending you both spinning a bit. He just shakes his head, muttering something unintelligible and keeps running. Those are some ways to encounter this frazzled sankta…as for what happens after the inevitable collapse:)

Aftermath (TW: Grief, Major Character death themes, near panic attack):

His body won’t stop shaking. His breath stutters, raw and uneven, catching on the sobs that still won’t fully subside. His fingers twitch where they press against the cold, uneven floor, grasping at nothing, grasping at something—anything—to ground him. But there’s nothing. Nothing except the awful, suffocating silence where Sunday used to be.

Sunday is gone.

The thought slams into him again, relentless. His stomach lurches, his chest tightening around the reality of it, squeezing his lungs, making each breath feel shallower. The burning in his throat won’t fade, and his face is damp—too damp—but he refuses to acknowledge it.

He had failed.

His fingers flex and curl, clenching into fists against the ground as if the pressure will somehow steady him. It doesn’t. His body sways slightly as he pushes himself upright, his limbs weak, trembling. He’d been running too much, his still healing body taking too many hits. He lacks supplies, lacks a place to regroup. He grits his teeth against the exhaustion weighing on him, the sharp grief, forcing himself back, inch by inch, until his shoulders hit the icy surface of a mirror. The impact sends a dull jolt through his frame, reverberating painfully through his chipped wings, but he barely notices.

His blurred gaze flickers sideways, catching movement, a shape—his own reflection. It’s unfamiliar. Hollowed-out eyes, pale skin streaked with dirt and grime with clear tracks breaking it up, lips parted slightly as he fights to get his breathing under control. The background is filled with figures, blood, failures, the face staring back at him numb and worn.

He looks—

Federico rips his gaze away, his stomach twisting. He refuses to look.
Instead, his hands fumble for his weapon. His patron firearm, snatched up in his haste. He’d lost his cloak, but as long as he has his weapons, his ties to The Law, his duty…there. He finds it after a second, fingers locking around the familiar weight of his shotgun. His grip is too tight, his knuckles aching from the pressure, but he doesn’t loosen it. The steel is cold against his skin, solid in a way nothing else feels right now.

He needs to hold onto something. He needs to keep watch.

He cannot afford to break down any further than he already has.

He draws his knees up slightly, curling in just enough to brace the shotgun against his chest, cradling it like a lifeline. His wings twitch, shards of black obsidian glass curling inward, instinctively folding around him as if to block out the suffocating press of the mirrors. The air feels too thick, too heavy. His ears ring, the silence unnatural, deafening.

If someone were to stumble upon him like this—

A lone, crumpled figure, huddled into himself like a wounded animal, wings drawn tight as if trying to make himself small, trying to disappear—

He would look utterly lost. A battered soldier, clinging to any shred of control over the situation he can.

He knows he needs to rest. It’s logical. A necessity. A body pushed too far will falter, no matter how strong the will behind it.

But there’s no good place for it. He hasn’t found one. No sanctuary, only mirrors as far as his weary eyes can see.

This will have to suffice. A corner of this wretched, twisting maze, his back to something solid, his weapon held close.

Sunday’s last request.

Keep himself safe. Keep the others safe.

He needs to find them. He needs to get back up...

His fingers twitch around his shotgun, his grip going lax for a moment before tightening again, alerted by the soft noise that makes. He blinks hard, the sting in his eyes sharp, his vision swimming. His body aches, exhaustion dragging at his limbs like lead. He blinks again. His head tilts forward slightly before he forces it back up, a small, jerking motion.

Not yet.

His breath evens out, just slightly. The unbearable sting behind his eyes softens, the tension in his shoulders dulling. The cold pressing against his back becomes distant, muted.

His grip loosens again. Just for a second.

His breathing deepens without him realizing. His wings slump, no longer curled so tightly, his entire body sinking into the wall behind him.

He fights it.

He loses.

Executor Federico Giallo keeps his vigil.

And unwillingly, gradually—he fails even that, as he slips into an uneasy sleep.

A Dream (Closed to Chirithy):

Uneasy sleep brings uneasy dreams. Somehow, Chirithy finds their way into one…

They'll find themselves in a small room, dimly lit by the flickering light of some candles. There are children’s toys and drawings strewn about, an unmade bed to the side, and an ivory cello propped lovingly on a stand against the wall.
The atmosphere is warm, quiet, broken only by soft sniffles and sobs, and the quiet scratching of crayons over paper. A single lamp pools soft light onto a desk, illuminating scattered papers, stubby crayons, and the small, furrowed face of a child hunched over his work.

A little boy, no older than seven, grips a crayon too tightly, pressing it to the page with a seriousness far beyond his years. The paper is already filled with jagged, overlapping shapes—some sharp, some curling inward like they're caving in on themselves. A tangle of emotion he doesn’t quite have words for yet.

Behind him, a slightly older girl in a black dress sits at the desk's other chair, her shoulders shaking with quiet, hiccuping sobs. She has turned slightly away, curling into herself, as if trying to disappear. Her long, dark hair falls over her face, hiding the blotchy redness in her cheeks, the way she clutches at her sleeves like she wants to pull them over her hands and vanish into the fabric.

She doesn't speak.

The boy glances at her, frustration flickering in his too-still expression.
Mirrors line the far side of the room, reflecting the scene at odd angles. Some of them are clear, capturing the quiet intimacy of the siblings in their small world. Others are subtly warped—distorting the lines of little Federico’s face, twisting his scribbled emotions into unrecognizable knots. One mirror, tucked away in the corner, does not reflect the room at all. It is dark, opaque, waiting.

Waiting for something.

Or someone.

The boy’s sky blue eyes flicker, catching movement, and he looks to Chirithy. He’s never been very expressive, but it is more obvious when the eyes of a child widen with surprise, perhaps even wonder.

“Soror…” he whispers, nudging the girl beside him, pointing. She looks up, tearstained face lighting up a little.

“Gattino? H-How’d you make it in here?”

A Will:

A.) Once he recovers adequately, Federico can be found in many places all around this strange mirrored floor. If he spots you, he’ll likely neutralize any threats you’re facing and escort you to safety. If you know him at all, you’ll probably notice he’s even quieter than usual, operating more like a man on a mission than a lost passenger.

The instruments…they’re likely in his room. He cannot reach them here…

He seems a little lost in thought. And very tired. But who isn't, here?

B.) Fou-Lu, whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re found, there is a very determined sankta approaching you. He’s stone-faced, but there’s a grim energy about him. Good luck.

C.) Federico can also be found in the mirrored bar, picking through the glass cups, deeply considering something. In regards to this part of the will, he can also be found just watching the sky through the windows. He just. Stands there. Like he’s waiting for something. (This part of the will is for Neuvillette.)

The man named Aventurine…he needs to provide council. Somehow. A difficult prospect when he himself is barely holding it together.

D.) As for the Prayer book…

“…would that also be in his room? Or would it be on his person?” he murmurs, trying his best to navigate his way back to where…it happened. “There was no body. If it was on his person, is it possible to burn? Perhaps Aurelia would know…”

At a distance, he makes for a fascinating contradiction. An Executor so focused on the will in his care, all other details seem to fade around him. Being so focused he’s distracted.

[nightmareofdivinity]

Fou-Lu is himself looking a bit panicked, a hand over his chest. He's busy dealing with the fact that he can feel his other half again, and is trying to make his way to him before he spots Federico heading towards him.

He stops. There's something about him that feels... ominous. His eyes flick to meet the Executor's and -

"What doth be the matter?" He's hesitant, shaky - but whatever's going on, he needs to find his other half quickly.

"Wisteria" (Pandora, the abdicated Azem) | Final Fantasy XIV AU (Unsundered Azem)

[discoveryourend]

Through the Looking Glass

She's been through worse, she thinks, as the pressure grows. This is like drowning, which she's conquered before—she can't be killed, really, not in any way that lasts. Not outside of specific conditions. It's like the passage between the reflections of the world her mentor shattered to save it. The oppressiveness of he who once was Themis' cage, though this without what might have also once been broken limbs.

When Wisteria breaches the surface, soap-bubble thin, she stumbles forward. Disoriented, she swipes a hand out in front of her blindly, out of habit, damp hood falling askew with scarves and cloak hanging limply; that there had been no solid surface to break is unexpected, compounding the unbalance. She's quick to stand upright, squinting at the scene before her, blinking away the droplets clinging to her lashes trapped behind her mask.

Where in hells has she wound up? There are too many mirrors—and certainly mirrors, for there's no aether she can sense making them far from Her crystals. And that thought lingers, even as she crosses a few places off her list.

It doesn't matter. Forward.

Shoving her hair out of her face with a gloved hand, Wisteria glares ahead; it's frustrating to know she's here without having chosen to be. The only ones able to do that should be—

The ancient warrior shakes her head, pointedly grabbing for the lengths of her scarves and cloak, wringing what dampness still clings to them out much like that thought. Forward.

"Well, then!" With a clap of her hands, the traveller draws herself up with an air more lively than she feels, "Time to sort this out."

...

Wisteria moments later can be found standing in the doorway of the room housing "her" mirror and its brethren, calling out towards the deck proper, low and graveled voice managing to carry.

"Is mirrors going solid black normal after spitting some wayward soul out, here?"

Might as well see if there's anyone to answer. Sure sounds like it, she thinks.

2 inches

There's a soft, tight inhale of breath as Wisteria wavers in place. She's wandered—of course she has, she'd earned all parts of her old title—through until the mirrors start showing something different. Something wrong. And she thinks of the world's shattering, the Sundering, the grieving attempt to spare the souls that didn't deserve what the Convocation deemed appropriate, because these reflections are so like her... while they aren't at all.

Faded, lost, little more than a ghost standing amid the rubble.
Streaked in blood and ichor with axe in hand, aetherial armoury fanning out behind her.
Feral, gaze wild and smile ever moreso, hunching forward with fists bloody, bodies at her feet.
Trapped again, gaze empty as her forehead presses tighter to the bars.
Collected, black mask set neatly in place above a lopsided grin, wrapped in black robes and wreathed in dark aether.
All with her face but so very wrong.

"What is this?" Her normally stone-rough voice is quiet, more a rasp than words, as she steps up to one of the reflections in those oddly arranged mirrors—seeming to shape an arc with how they prop up and stack against each other—each and all performing that same movement in time with her. When she reaches out, so do they.

Quite a bit more literally than she'd anticipated, in fact. She should have known better after emerging from a mirror, herself! The thought comes as a sharp, familiar voice, scolding her from the depths of her memories.

One reflection grabs at her wrist, rage twisting its features. But there is no sound even as its mouth clearly shapes tooth-sharpened words, and in her stun, Wisteria does nothing. She could pull away, surely, but instead she finds herself still. Another hand grabs a fistful of her cloak. A scarf. A sleeve.

The black-robed one grabs for her next—pulls so sharply that her shoulder might have dislocated even the mirror fails to contain the anomaly, steps forward, cold metal claws digging into leather. It, she, speaks to her without speaking, only expressions, as her grin turns vicious.

Wisteria is ancient, but this is new, and yet somehow this wars with her survival instinct. Wisteria only steps back, though the other reflections fail to release her, instead seeking to follow when their limbs go taut.

...Even thousands of years later, the former Azem remains an idiot in the face of danger, seems, no matter how dark the tone of her voice when she makes her request.

"Mind letting go?"

The strange reflection will not, and it might benefit her if someone with experience in this fact pointed it out or else this may just turn unfortunate.

All hands

How she doesn't reel from the stench is beyond her, sometimes. Maybe it's the ages spent on battlefields or in close proximity to them. Blood is a familiar thing, wretched truth as it is.

Wisteria had determined her best bet to learning more would be to start searching from the bottom-up. As of yet, she isn't sure if she regrets that decision.

Mostly, it just seems to mean she's going to have a hell of a time getting the smell of copper out of her nose, and also not trust any other water source on whatever vessel this is.

To anyone nearby curious enough about the blood-smell of the water, or otherwise visible from her place peering at the incongruity of it all, she's going to call out.

"Don't suppose you've any ideas about this, do you?" Though her voice is mostly flat, dragged over gravel, the question is genuine. Not that she's sure what she expects.

Come on in!

Wildcard option!

All hands

[cloversandcranes]

[NA3G1 pauses from his own investigation of this floor when he hears the question. Someone is talking to him? Turning to look at Wisteria, he tilts his head curiously.]

This? Do you mean the water?

[He doesn't understand the question. What is unusual about it?]

welcome to the boat Rocketgirl

[ace_of_fontaine]

Furina is a normally a rather calm person, at least she likes to think of herself as such, this however, she'd allow to be qualified as an exception What the fuck what the fuck what the fuckkkkkk!!!! her brain is moving a million miles an hour to put it lightly as she feels herself being pressed up against a solid surface. She was no stranger to nightmares of course, but this? This felt different, she could feel every bit of this... She tried to move to pinch herself attempting to force herself awake but she was being pressed too tightly. fuck fuck fuck fuck think furina thinkkk she was panicking and starting to hyperventilate but before she could begin a full scale panic attack, something gives.

Furina flops free from the mirror, slamming face first onto the ground and thoroughly drenching herself in this weird reflective... Water?? Some got in her mouth and tasted AWFUL what in the actual fuck is any of this... WHERE the fuck am I??? she can already feel the panic attack coming on as she looks around

Only to be surrounded with seemingly infinite furinas

"Ohhh FUCK this!! I've seen enough horror movies to know when one is starting..."

She crawls backwards hitting her back against the mirror? That she seemingly came through as an idea pops into her head MY PHONE, ah furina de fontaine, you are a genius... as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and takes note of what all she has on her. Her sidearm, her vest, her bomber jacket, her wallet and her knife are all there. alrighty perfect now to call for help...

Her phone didn't have any signal

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me...."

She looks around and sees a myriad of hallways on one hand if I die my darling wifey will be a heartbroken widow.... On the other hand sitting here is probably gonna accomplish nothing... Alrighty here goes nothing furina... she manages to hype herself up and start walking.

It's not long before she runs into another person while exploring (open to everyone)

Thankfully she quickly finds a familiar face (closed to fontaine characters)

[charmingmisdirection]

Lyney would really like to find basically anyone at this point, but the face he stumbles across was not in the list of possibilities he had considered.

“Lady Furina? You— what are you wearing?” comes out of his mouth before he can think better of it, he’s so thoroughly baffled to see the Archon dressed in some kind of… military looking outfit.

Sirius Uhr | Original Character | OTA

[guidingbookworm]

Arrival

[Ever since Sirius became the star mage he was more magic than human. The part of him that was still human was crafted from his memories. Just like how when you look back at a memory it doesn’t feel quite so he didn’t think much of the faint sensation pushing against him at first. However, it became harder to ignore the harder it pushed against him. He didn’t need to breathe but that didn’t stop his panic, especially since things were starting to hurt.

His silver eyes brightly glowed as he resonated with his panic and pulled his consciousness over to his magic side. The world around him faded under the weightless embrace of his magic, allowing him to temporarily ignore the pain of his physical body. It helped ease his panic a bit but he couldn’t see anything when he was like this. It felt like when you see something out of the corner of your eye, but his magical senses created a more accurate picture for him. The pain may have stopped but he was just as trapped. His panic continued to rise as he struggled in vain against the invisible force. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore something gave way, and he fell through glass surface.

His eyes erratically dimmed as he struggled to calm down enough to pull his consciousness back to his human side. He blinked as his vision slowly returned and he looked around. That’s strange, why was there water instead of glass fragments? The mirror he came out of was perfectly intact as well and he ran a hand down the strange black surface.]

Where am I?

[His eyes flickered brighter and his vision blurred as his panic started to rise again but he quickly pushed down his anxiety with some practiced deep breaths. He may not need to breathe anymore the habit was still calming. He couldn’t fall apart now. He needed to figure you what was going on and see if he could find the others.]


Shallower Reflections

[The shallow reflections made Sirius uneasy but after what happened with Eclipse he couldn’t bring himself to hurt them. Even when they attacked him, he relied on his star magic to get away instead of fighting back. His body shimmered like stars as he wrapped his star magic around himself, allowing him to harness the energy of the stars to move inhumanly fast. Star magic was more volatile than the other elements so he could only manage small jumps without risking a more explosive retreat.

The only time he did resort to violence was when someone else was in danger. He blinked to their side and shaped his magic into a small orb of light.]

Close your eyes!


??? deck

[Great, more mirrors. Forgive him for being a bit jumpy after dealing with the shallow reflections. Still, he spent years learning how not to let his anxiety show and he hid behind practiced confidence as he explored the deck. The sharp flickering in his silver glowing eyes was the only hint to how he was really feeling.

He didn’t need food but the others might and he prioritized that with his search. His search led him to the bottom of the floor. There was something different about the water here and his eyes flashed with a startled spark.]

Why does it smell like blood?


Wildcard

[Surprise me with your own prompt! You can talk to me on Nicholaj, Discord@25thNicholaj, or PM, whichever is easiest for you. Sirius is an OC. Here’s his Permissions/Info for more details. Enjoy!]

I think there's a nice parallel of throwing the "original" at this version (shallower reflections)

[sanktawithashotgun]

[As a sankta, eyesight is important to properly aim one's patron firearm. He's already gunned down several of these distortions with ease, watching blankly as they all pop or melt into silver liquid. Less threats...less chance of losing more people. More passengers. More-

'Close your eyes!'

He's still learning about these creatures. Some of them are dead silent. He did not hear anyone behind him. Still, Executor's worked with enough operators with various Arts to know what this may be about (one codename was literally 'Shining'...).

So he complies immediately, shutting his eyes, his grip still locked tight on his shotgun, ready to move at a moment's notice.]

Eclipse | Original Character | OTA

[ravenousstar]

Broken reflection

[Eclipse didn’t know what to expect as he lay dying, but this annoying pressure wasn’t even close. It felt like he was being crushed to oblivion and his silver eyes burned brighter with his rage. So he can’t even die in peace? He was startled by the familiar sensation of his consciousness pulling to his magic side. How did he still have his magic? Death should have stripped him of his magic. Something was wrong and his hand shimmered with a similar silver glow as his eyes as he shaped his star magic into a starry gauntlet. He would be caught in the blast but if he was somehow alive again then refused to die pathetically like this.

He pressed his hand against the glass. The light grew brighter as he channeled the explosive nature of his star magic into his hand. He stumbled out of the mirror just before he could release the starry blast, and he quickly threw his magic away from him. The nearby mirror shattered in an explosion of light and glass shards. He was caught by a few shards of glass, but he didn’t notice his wounds as he walked out of the mirror, nor how the blood from the knife wound in his chest had turned to water.

He couldn’t see anything under the weightless embrace of his magic so he reluctantly focused on Sirius’s memories of when he was human. He hated relying on Sirius’s memories. He was a reflection of Sirius’s soul that was created from his regret and heartbreak when he lost his friends. Those agonizing emotions were the first things Eclipse felt in his life and his eyes shimmered with his deep hatred. The violent emotions made it more difficult to pull his consciousness back to his human side so he could see, and he silently seethed as he wrestled with his emotions.

This is why he preferred keeping his consciousness on his magic side but his magical senses didn’t show him details. It was as if he was seeing everything out of the corner of his eyes so all he felt around him was a room full of solid objects, not a very helpful picture when he had nothing to work with.]


Shallow reflections

[Eclipse hated that he was a copy of someone else and the shallow reflections fed that rage. He mercilessly cut down any that dared attack him in a blast of searing light. His eyes burned brighter as his magic resonated with his emotions. His vision blurred and it became difficult to differentiate between friend or foe. Meaning he is just as likely to attack you as he is one of his own reflections if you get too close.]


Wildcard

[Surprise me with your own prompt! You can talk to me on Nicholaj, Discord@25thNicholaj, or PM, whichever is easiest for you. Eclipse is an OC and a magical doppelganger of Sirius. Here’s his Permissions/Info for more details. Enjoy!]

oh brackets huh? Sure we can do brackets! Shallow reflections.

[sarkazwithascythe]

[I don't have a threatening enough icon for this lmaooooo]

[Being a gargoyle, bright flashes of light would normally turn Messenger away. Sunlight didn't necessarily turn them to stone as the myths claimed, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. Still, it's a sign of life. A possible sign of answers.

If it's a disaster of some sort, then he can take it upon himself to warn others about it. Like at home. A piece of normalcy.

So he flies over to investigate, spotting a person battling several reflections. Ah. So someone was in danger. He swoops down to join the fray with his scythe in hand and-

Hisses, teeth bared as a blast of light impacts with his wing. ]

What is wrong with you? [He growls, swiping away another assailant, shaking out his wing as the wound smokes.] I am trying to help you. Unless you are another of these distorted creatures. If so, perhaps I should have left you all to kill each other after all.

[Sheesh, have some tact...Messenger himself is a reflection as well, so this is rather hypocritical...]

Darkness | Stupid Mario Brothers (YouTube series)

[noxyourhero]

[[ OOC: he might be a dick.... he might not be... we will see!! - but anyway come closer i can be so normal and so sincere about this guy from the whacky LARP fanfiction series i grew up with--

feel free to interrupt him in the middle of any of his prompts! i'm willing to make whatever work >:3 ]]

--

1 [GIVES YOU HELL]

"Hey, quit pushing! Don't you know who I--"

His face is shoved into the glass, making the indignant "am!?" come out squished and incomprehensible. He grimaces against the glass, certain that his smushed expression must look absolutely stupid. One might even say comical, he's sure. Eyeroll.

"I see how it is," he seethes, still squished. "Everyone just loves making fun of Darkness! 'Who cares about him anymore, he's not a REAL villain anyw'-- Oof!"

With one final shove, he stumbles out of a. ...mirror? Where is he? Why is he surrounded by mirrors? The mirror he fell out of is solid black, which is. Interesting. Some kind of... Dark World B.S.? Putting his hand back on the glass proves it has no give. Well, fine. He didn't want to go back in there, anyway!

He catches his reflection in another mirror, and whirls around abruptly to face it. His outfit looks fine, his face is still Mario's, but why. WHY. is he STILL WEARING. Mario's HAT. on his HEAD.

He reaches up and snatches it, proving it real. "I thought I got rid of this thing AGES ago!" He snaps, throwing it to the side with significant force.

Maybe it hits someone in the face as they were going past, or approaching to investigate the shouting.

--

2 [LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR]

As he wanders through the ship, let it be clear: he does not really look like the Mario that everyone is familiar with here, on the Ship. He's much taller, he's clean-shaven, and he has real world proportions - even before you get to him wearing all black, or the dark circles of his eyes. So he might have been able to enjoy getting by without anyone realizing he shared Mario's face...! Except for the fact that every other mirror shows him with that damn hat.

He gave up destroying said mirrors after the third. It was a losing battle, and there were better ways to spend his energy.

Case in point: the shallow reflections that step out of the mirrors after him. Clearly talking to them is pointless - and clearly all they want to do is attack him - so Darkness gives up trying to be a good guy, and starts killing. They fall around him like swatting flies.

"Ha! Too easy. Though I can't say I feel great about cutting down my own face..."

In the distance, he sees someone else. In the distance, he sees their reflection step out after them.

"Ugh. So much for not being a hero."

He slaps the reflection with a burst of dark magic strong enough to make it instantly collapse into water. ...and then, maybe, he'll try and leave before the person he rescued notices him. Maybe, if he’s quick!

--

3 [HEADS WILL ROLL]

There's a face that isn't his in the mirror.

Darkness backs up, double takes. Alright, sure, correction - it's not Mario's face in the mirror. But that face - that face -

That's Nox Decious. Except it isn't. Except it is. He's unmasked. His scars look - wrong.

Darkness sees his own eyes on Decious' face - and recoils.

As if he took Decious' form instead of Mario's - as if! - as if! - he could stand seeing that face in the mirror any longer after a thousand years of suffering it - as if he didn't choose Mario's face because it was - it was Mario or Decious - so it wasn't really a choice at all, now, was it! -

He yells, wordless. He yells, and grabs the mirror by the top of the frame. He yells, and he throws it. The whole mirror.

It connects with other mirrors, and then the floor, with a deafening CRASH.

HEADS. WILL. ROLL.

[thickerthanwaters]

Glass shattering on this deck isn't necessarily out of the ordinary at this point. Thancred's attributed to quite a few, for sure. However he sees this guy chuck a mirror. Is in fact too close to the shatter zone to account for flying glass. And - yikes.

The sound makes Thancred wince more anything. This guy isn't happy. And he understands all too well.

Thancred's resorted to pointedly ignoring his reflections that look immediately incorrect. He doesn't need another panic attack. The crooked smile and eyes that aren't his still linger in the back of his head if he thinks about it too hard.

Anyway. "Ow."

A shard of the broken mirror happened to nick him square in the jaw, and his gloved palm immediately comes up to staunch the blood.

"Guessing you didn't see me there." Thancred laughs. He doesn't say anything further, wanting to gauge the man's reaction.