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[closed]
WHO: Ghost (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
badfeyth), Reno (astraphilia) , Johanna (keepgodwaiting) , Lestat (perfectdevil) , Alhaitham (justscribing) , and Kaveh (fussiest) .
WHAT: The "Monologue With The Moon" player plot!
WHERE: [emphatic shrug]
WHEN: 1/6/24
WARNINGS: Possible references to murder, violence, related dark themes, medical equipment, Omelas Kid™ Scenarios, shady institutions and their operations, etc.
You are standing in a nondescript, space-age sort of room; the walls are a silver metal so polished that you can almost see shadows of a reflection in it, and the floor is likewise sturdy and reinforced. There are two Star Trek-style sliding doors leading out of the room, one on the left wall and one on the right. Both are currently in open position, enabling you to see out into the corridor beyond; it looks pretty much the same out there as your surroundings in here. Maybe there are doors; you'd have to look closer to check.
Currently in the room with you is a pretty normal-looking wooden podium that's clearly seen some use (though in what ways, you'd have to look more closely at it to determine), and a very abnormal-looking escape portal that's just kind of floating in midair, definitely big enough for even a very tall human to walk through, but for the fact that it's behind an impenetrable forcefield. You're welcome to hurl yourself at this, hit it, whatever, all that you want, but unfortunately it ain't budging under any method currently available to you or your party.
Really, your circumstances look something like this:
The other thing you might notice is that your clothes have received a slight glam-up, in the sense that clipped to a pocket, lapel, belt loop, or other convenient area of your attire is some sort of ID card. That might be worth having a look at.
Speaking of having a look at things, maybe you ought to look around?
badfeyth), Reno (astraphilia) , Johanna (keepgodwaiting) , Lestat (perfectdevil) , Alhaitham (justscribing) , and Kaveh (fussiest) .WHAT: The "Monologue With The Moon" player plot!
WHERE: [emphatic shrug]
WHEN: 1/6/24
WARNINGS: Possible references to murder, violence, related dark themes, medical equipment, Omelas Kid™ Scenarios, shady institutions and their operations, etc.
You are standing in a nondescript, space-age sort of room; the walls are a silver metal so polished that you can almost see shadows of a reflection in it, and the floor is likewise sturdy and reinforced. There are two Star Trek-style sliding doors leading out of the room, one on the left wall and one on the right. Both are currently in open position, enabling you to see out into the corridor beyond; it looks pretty much the same out there as your surroundings in here. Maybe there are doors; you'd have to look closer to check.
Currently in the room with you is a pretty normal-looking wooden podium that's clearly seen some use (though in what ways, you'd have to look more closely at it to determine), and a very abnormal-looking escape portal that's just kind of floating in midair, definitely big enough for even a very tall human to walk through, but for the fact that it's behind an impenetrable forcefield. You're welcome to hurl yourself at this, hit it, whatever, all that you want, but unfortunately it ain't budging under any method currently available to you or your party.
Really, your circumstances look something like this:
The other thing you might notice is that your clothes have received a slight glam-up, in the sense that clipped to a pocket, lapel, belt loop, or other convenient area of your attire is some sort of ID card. That might be worth having a look at.
Speaking of having a look at things, maybe you ought to look around?
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Both sets of journals demonstrate organic growth in terms of finesse; some are written very simply in clunkier handwriting, while others are more precise, while others are the sort of cramped messy of someone who's mastered their own personal handwriting style and can jot it off at the speed of thought, without having to be deliberate about it. The sentence structure, likewise, reflects a similar evolution.
The journals not in Ghost's handwriting are very clearly the work of a creative and intuitive innovator; there are full pages of notes that look like synthesized research drawn from countless different sources (and indeed, the sources are neatly cited), there are flowcharts, there are brainstorming webs, there are sketches. Most all of them make reference to "the talent" in some way or another, and there are several instances of notes on hypothetical applications, usually either with check marks in the margins or items crossed out.
The journals that are in Ghost's handwriting are both less brilliant but also less...manic? This style of writing is both more internalized and more reflective, the way one might expect a personal diary to be. There are simplistic fable-like stories, there are personal accounts of the activities of a given day (usually referencing "tutoring"); some are upbeat and enthusiastic, while others are solemn and melancholy. The one common denominator among all of them, however, is that the author's ability to convey images, ideas, and sentiments is very deft; they have a distinct and predictable style, a good command of language, and a knack for making themselves understood without double meaning or obscurity.
The post-it notes are pretty much like all the others — tabs to draw attention to particular pages, silly little drawings, and the like.]
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And then, just to be sure, he's going to kick over the beanbags and see if anything is under them. This is unlikely, but he's inclined to be thorough.]
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Kicking over the beanbags tragically does not do anything except send clearly-loved possessions and post-it notes scattering haphazardly around the room as the big weighty masses of bean-filled fabric displace them. The pristine stack of blank journals that Kaveh found goes spilling all over the floor. It replaces itself instantly in the exact same height and number immediately thereafter.
Is there any other property damage you want to cause, Godzilla?]
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And what about you? Are you going to put all of those journals back where you found them?
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There didn't seem to be an end to them, it's true. I suspect if we take the entire pile, another pile will spring up.
[ ... a contemplative silence, because that seems terribly useful, if it were in the real world. an endless supply on sketchbooks on demand. but in a space where, well, space is limited - that seems deadly. ]
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Ghost did mention she used to write stories. These must be where she wrote them.
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Though I haven't seen a name. It might be deeper in here or in one of the other rooms.
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... perhaps. Or rather, I hope we find the name in another one of the rooms. I don't know how to feel if that name is entirely gone.
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