citylogs | MONOLOGUE WITH THE MOON [open player event]

Entry tags:

MONOLOGUE WITH THE MOON [open player event]

WHO: Anyone.
WHAT: You, your truths, masks to wear, and places to escape.
WHERE: All over and no where.
WHEN: 1/6/2024.
WARNINGS: Some uncomfortable visuals, but nothing blatant. Please add warnings in your subject lines as needed.
NOTES: Original plotting post here if you need to refer to it.

JUST ANOTHER DAY.

Just like any other. You follow your routine, however it may be. Mundane or not, thrilling or not, eventually there is the inevitability: you open a door, as you always have. Only, where it leads to is not what you expect at all. The door behind you is now closed, locked, and oddly indestructible; the path before you is dark and dismal, narrow, walls lined with ornamental golden doors.

Where could they possibly go?

VISUALS:

JUST ANOTHER MASK.

The door that you decide upon brings you a room, if it can be called that. Like the hallway before, it feels cramped and too narrow, too dark and dingy. Largely it is utterly unremarkable, save for a particularly specific feature: there are shelves and baskets full of masks. Not just any masks, of course, but of faces you know all too well. They bear the faces of your fellow citizens of the city, the detail impressive and uncomfortably uncanny.

Should you put on one of the masks, you will find yourself in one of two situations: either you and the person whose mask you wear end up sharing thoughts, or you hear the thoughts of the person whose mask you wear. It is possible to take these masks with you, but know after all is said and done the strange power that comes with these masks bear will fade.

VISUALS:

JUST ANOTHER MEMORY.

We all have parts of ourself we want to forget, to hide away from. Maybe a mistake we made, a cruel experience you didn't deserve -- or perhaps, something cruel by your hand? Remembering your first kill, a bad break-up, or an unfortunate incident with a seesaw? Either way, the truth of you will be laid bare before others, in some capacity. This is your room, or this is someone else's. Either way, it is here, and the curtains are drawn for the play.

This room is entirely catered to a character's memory, be it yours or somebody else's. It can be any unpleasant memory, because really why would anything nice ever happen right now? The room can function however feels most appropriate to you. Either the scene can be played like a movie projected on a screen, or it can be participated in as if you were really there. It can be as accurate as possible, or it can be as twisted by your character's fears and anxieties as much as you feel is appropriate. Bear in mind the term "room" is used in the loosest sense possible, as really this area does not abide by any laws of physics or realism, after all.

VISUALS:

JUST ANOTHER ROOM.

When a person dreams or has a nightmare, how rarely it ever seems to make sense. Memories, after all, can be skewed by time and reflection; when we sleep, the experiences our minds come up with can be average to terrifying. And thus, that is what you can make of this room: a living nightmare of all your insecurities, and no door dares open so easily for you. How can you hope to escape from yourself?

Welcome to the worst escape room, where you need to figure out how to free yourself from what binds you. Think of it less as a memory and more as everything that makes you uncomfortable and your skin crawl boarding you inside, and you need to find a way out. Maybe you need to find some keys, or a solve a series of puzzles. Hopefully the person stuck with you can lend a hand?

VISUALS:

JUST ANOTHER DOOR CLOSING.

Like all things, it ends, whatever has brought on this nightmare. But you will always wake from your dreams, won't you? And eventually, that next door brings you back to where you've been staying in the City. As good as any home? Perhaps your bonds of friendship and love have increased as a result...

Or are you the kind of person to end up crushed by what has already been haunting you like an abandoned house?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Good, good.

[He nods along, jotting another observation down in his notebook. ...A little more than he might otherwise. Which may have something to do with the toy's first comment.]

Now, I may not be a child myself, but I would be up for playing a game if you are.

[ He does his best to shrug off the disgusted sensation of being observed so dispassionately. This is just a memory, and he just has to go with it. There's nothing more to it. ]

What kind of game?

Eleusis, if you've heard of it? A simplified version, of course. The Chief Secretary will be cross if I spend all my time playing a game today, I imagine.

[A deck of cards appears in his hand in another, smaller flash of light, and he begins to shuffle them.]

Though if another game happens to strike your fancy, I'm all ears.

Can't say I'm familiar with it. Guess you'll have to teach me.

[ He watches curiously as the masked man summons a deck of cards and begins shuffling them. The voice is so familiar, but he still can't place it. Who has he spoken to in the city that sounds and speaks like this...? ]

Of course. Though since it iss only the two of us, rather than a group, we'll simplify the game a little more.

[Another wave of the hand sees a mat placed on the floor between them and the masked man sitting crosslegged before it. He finishes shuffling and places the deck in the corner of the mat.]

The general idea is this: one party, called "God" decides upon a set pattern for cards to be played, while the other players attempt to decipher the pattern and clear their hands. Points are awarded to players who manage to do so successfully, and cards are added to players' hands when they guess the rule unsuccessfully. ...Normally, anyroad. We'll forgo the points for now since there's only the two of us here.

[He begins to hold up a finger with each rule he delves more deeply into]

In this case, we shall opt for a different goal: if the player can empty their hand or guess the pattern correctly, they win.

[Another finger is held up]

Incorrect plays are moved beneath the card the player attempted to play against, and that player must draw three more cards as punishment.

[A third finger rises.]

If a player believes they are unable to play a card, they must reveal their hand. If God looks upon their cards and determines they were able to play a card according to the pattern, the player takes their hand back and draws another card as penalty. If God determines that they are correct, and they wouldn't have been able to play any of the cards held in their hand, the players cards will be shuffled back into the deck, and they will receive a new hand that is one card smaller.

[He deals twelve cards from the deck to Wanderer, and then places the next card (the 4 of clubs), face up between them both.

It appears the Chief has already decided on his role for the game.]

Any questions before we begin in earnest?

[ 'God', huh. His expression morphs into a sneer of disdain. If he had any interest in the game, it's tarnished by the usage of that word. ]

What a fitting title for the role. How will I know that you won't change the rule halfway to cheat me? Will you subject this poor 'mortal' to the divine's whimsy? Or will you claim to be an honest and fair 'god'?

[There's a pause as the man examines the toy from behind his mask.]

There was some debate on calling the role "that inscrutable force which dictates the known logic of the star" but that seemed a bit of a mouthful.

[Another pause comes after the attempt to lighten the mood, but then the man leans forward with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin atop his intertwined fingers.]

'Tis a game. Nothing more. And even should you be opposed to the word, there may be children who enjoy playing imaginative games that involve a god or two. They may cheat or lie, for they are but children, testing the boundaries of what they can and cannot do, as is healthy for their age. Do you intend to speak to them the way you are now when they do?

[Something about the way the masked man stares at Wanderer changes, as if he is looking through him, rather than simply at.]

[ —right, he was acting the part of some toy. He'd almost forgotten about that. If it's children, he could hardly lash out at them for using that terminology, and it's not as if they're in the wrong. It's just... his personal hang-up.

He calms himself and smooths his expression. ]

Very well. Let's begin.

[ For a game like this, at this point in the stage, he has no information to work with. Any card he plays would give him information. So he picks out a card with little thought and places it on the table. A seven of spades. ]

Alright, god [ and his voice is even here, betraying none of what he expressed earlier ], is this a viable card?

[The man doesn't move immediately, continuing to stare at Wanderer, examining every inch of his face for any sign of continued aggression.

He looks down at the card, and then back at the toy, and moves the card beneath the first.]

Nay, I'm afraid not.

[ He would find no trace of that aggression in the drifter, only a placid expression. Though he may be annoyed by the current situation, he's willing to go along with the scenario, if only to try to obtain more clues as to whose memory this belongs to.

Alright, so that card didn't follow the rule. He has to draw three cards now, if he remembers correctly, and does so. Looking over his hand, he picks another card and places it down. Two of clubs. ]

And this one?

Edited 2024-01-23 06:58 (UTC)

[The man looks down at the card and nods, leaving it beside the first.]

Yes, that one fits the rule.

[...for now.]

[ He takes a moment to think, allowing his mind to sink into the enjoyment of solving a puzzle. What were the similarities between the four of clubs and the two of clubs? Both were even numbered, and of the clubs suit. The seven of spades hadn't been a viable play. 'All black cards are viable' was not the rule then. But it could be that all clubs were. Or perhaps even numbered cards was the play here, or cards lower than the starting card.

What of the red cards? He looks at the fourteen cards in his hand, pondering his next move. Eventually, he settles on a ten of diamonds and looks expectantly at the masked man. ]

[The man shakes his head and places the ten beneath the two of clubs.]

Nay, that one is also a "no."

[He pauses briefly, as if he's only just remembered his notebook, and takes a moment to jot something down in it. Then looks back over at Wanderer.]

I'm still paying attention, so you need not mind me. Please, play your next card.

[ Three more cards for him then. That's a total of sixteen cards in his hand now. But he doesn't immediately think about his next move—he's more curious about what the man is writing down on the notebook. But it's not angled correctly for him to see.

Well, he's a children's toy, right? He'd be excused if he was a little curious, surely. ]

What are you writing?

[ He musters as innocent an act as possible here. Pure curiosity, as if he himself is a child. ]

My notes on our time together.

[The man spares a brief moment to look over at Wanderer and then finishes writing, setting his notes off to the side once more.

And while his position made most of the notes difficult to read at best, Wanderer may be able to make out at least two words: "reversion recommended."]

'Tis part of my job, you see, to make sure concepts like yourself are ready to be used by the wider world.

[ Oh yes, he definitely sees that 'reversion recommended', but he's not entirely certain what that means. Revert to what, exactly? Or was it a spelling error, and he meant 'revision'?

He doesn't react outwardly, pretending he's unable to make out any words from where he is, and turns back to the masked man. ]

I see. What happens if a concept isn't ready?

[ He drops the innocent act here, narrowing his eyes slightly. The man is already aware that he's more than just a mere toy. It's better he doesn't think the drifter is also capable of acting and hiding his emotions. That, he thinks, would be too alarming for the man. ]

[The man sighs. It's a soft sound, tinged with resignation. He had been hoping to keep this simple, but...

Well. It may have to do with the soul it shouldn't have. It may not.]

That depends on its current state. Those that are dangerous to others or otherwise unstable are rejected or recommended to have their concepts revised. Revision is also recommended if the concept cannot perform in the way that it was designed, though it may instead be recommended for a different niche if it would perform better there.

[The words are chosen carefully, but the tone is wholly dispassionate. Surface-level politeness and fact and nothing more.

He pushes himself to his feet and with a wave of his hand, the cards disappear, motes of light hanging in the air, drifting along to fade away in a similar fashion to when Wanderer first found himself in the office.

Somehow, he doubts the toy will be willing to continue the game. A shame, really. It would have made the work day much more fun.]

[ Perhaps the question was too much. The masked man vanishes the cards, leaving between them nothing that can act as a boundary between each other. Alright then. Fine. He had a whole host of questions, and if his time is limited in this memory, then he'll ask without reservation.

He crosses his arms, fully showing his displeasure now. The dispassionate tone in his voice... he doesn't care at all. ]

You don't think of your creations as people, do you?

[The man straightens and blinks down at Wanderer from behind his mask, genuinely taken aback by the question.]

Well.. no. Not generally. By their very definition they are not men, just as something you made would not be the same as yourself.

Do you people not have children? Are they not considered people either? What's the difference? Aren't we both made by you?

[ There's a small tinge of desperation in his voice, even though he's trying to stay objective with his questions. But this is something he's wondered for the longest time, since his 'birth'. Did his creator... what did she think of him, truly? He considered her... he really did think of her as his mother, but did she...? ]

[Never before has the man heard a creation speak about its existence such. Is it the soul that influences it? A flaw with the concept as a whole? It seems cruel to allow it to continue down this path, but to leave it without answers before it undergoes reversion...

Hm.

He chooses his words carefully.]

We all have our purposes in life. For us, in the grander sense, it is to serve as stewards to the star, to ensure that life continues to flourish upon it. That is why we create: to bring that life forth, both old and new.

However, with such an ability comes an equal amount of responsibility. Not every creation is fit to be released. Some, though made with the best of intentions, are unable to thrive. Others devour all around themselves, bringing several species to ruin before leaving themselves to starve. 'Tis a careful balance that must needs be maintained, and that extends to those who would watch over and teach the children that would grow to maintain that balance.

[ We all have our purposes in life. He'd been created for a purpose, hadn't he? But it was not to be a stand-in for his mother. It was not to rule Inazuma alongside her. It wasn't even to be a successor, or some fake son because she was looking to mimic human familial bonds. He had been created to be discarded immediately, just like he likely will be in this situation. Just like now, he was only a prototype. A proof of concept.

He was never meant to be.

In this masked man's world, the creations that didn't fit weren't given the chance to suffer. This was right. This was just. As a creation, and not a true person, not a true human... this was how it should have been. He should have been destroyed the moment his mother confirmed the concept sound or otherwise. But he had cried, and she—it wasn't kindness that she spared him his end. To spare him, but decide not to even place him under someone's care, so he could learn to thrive in the world—to just abandon him under the pretense that he ought to be free to choose his own fate. What choice? What choice could he have possibly had, knowing nothing of the world??

But if he didn't live, he wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't have become Nahida's right hand, or met Altria, or even have happy memories of the people of Tatarasuna. Because she had stayed her hand, he was able to live a life full of love, hate, anger and much more. Wasn't that worth something as well? Wasn't... he worth something, still?

He's silent for a long moment, but not long enough for the masked man to decide the conversation is finished. ]

Don't your creations have the potential to change? To be more than what you intended them to be? Is it really fair to kill them before they have the chance to grow?

[ Maybe, he thinks, this is what his mother had imagined when she left him in Shakkei Pavilion, all those centuries ago. ]

"Kill?"

[He seems genuinely taken aback.]

...I see.

[Clearly influenced by the soul within. No toy should ever have to know of such a morbid concept.

And yet...]

I have heard similar sentiments before. Some creations have benefited from a longer trial period, and I'll not deny that others can be too quick to declare a creation a lost cause.

However, if I may offer a question of my own: is death truly so terrible a thing? Or is it but a moment's rest before a new journey? To become one with the lifeblood of the star for but one fleeting moment and then emerge anew?

Even we return to the star once we have fulfilled our purpose, after all.

Can it be considered a moment's rest when one never had a chance to journey into the world before being thrown away like trash?

[ This is an immediate response from the Wanderer, no delay for thought. ]

You describe death like a reward after experiencing a long, fulfilling life. What of death when used to cut a life short, before it even has a chance to bloom? What purpose have we fulfilled when we die like that? Proved that we should have never existed at all?

You can undo our lives, but you can't undo that we once existed.

[ Funny how he's somehow arguing for the opposite of what he's always thought about himself. That he never should have existed. That his mother should have killed him immediately.

...he has a lot to think about, after this. ]

[The man grows still, unnaturally so, as if the world around Wanderer has come to a complete stop.

A crackle of static bursts briefly behind him, growing more intense by the second. Images of perfect green filter in through the cracks in the office's brick walls, brief. Fleeting. Born from noise and swallowed by it in an instant.

Another voice, half obscured, not the voice of the masked man before him, echoes in the room]

Tell me! -- you think -- right -- -rifice -- -ake of -- star?

[The anguished man continues, but his voice is swallowed by the static once more as green gives way to starry black, and platforms bleed through the angled patterns of the floor. In the corners of the room, out of the corner of one's eye, the horizon just barely reveals the curve of the world.

And with it comes the feeling of being bound, limbs held tight. Helplessness.

The voice of the man from before breaks through once again, but there is anger in his voice. Anger, conviction, and perhaps... a hint of despair.]

-- we ourselves -- -awed -- stand to reason -- we too should be -- --scarded?

[Static roars to a crescendo and dies, taking the voice and image away with it, until Wanderer is left once more in a normal office recreated from memory, the world in motion once more.

And the masked man speaks.]

You remind me of someone.

MONOLOGUE WITH THE MOON [open player event]

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