and in the end if i don't make it on the list [ open ]

[postictal]

Who: Tim Wright and YOU! ...and guest
Where: It's a Wonderful Wonderlandland
When: January 19th - January 23rd
Rating: PG-13 probable
Summary: Tim's ideal world is simple. Incredibly simple. Except for the part where it's impossible.
The Story:

19th - 20th ; fantasy ; give me a boost over heaven's gate

Once he gets over how he has to shade his eyes against the diamond reflection of a too-bright sun, of the pumping lights and blinding colors of what looks like what might've been the end result if Lisa Frank took a couple tabs of acid and decided to start her very own apocalypse, he figures, correctly, that there's probably more to it than this. He prowls the edges of the bubble of increasingly absurd imagery, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It does.

He turns a corner, and there they are.

Sarah's hair falls back in a dark curtain as she laughs at something Seth just said. A little further - he can swear that's Jay there too, squirrely as ever, and the broad shoulders of a silhouette that couldn't belong to anyone but Brian.

But most startling, terrifying, unnatural than anything else, than the fact that they're there at all, is the way they all laugh and grin and joke freely and without abandon.

It's in the way they all look happy.

He doesn't breach that perfect world just yet. If this is his chance to watch what the world might have been without him, then why would he spoil it a second time? He can see them all like this, like they were meant to be, and no matter how thickly the nostalgia might build in his chest, how blindingly the ache of longing might tighten its stranglehold around his throat, he doesn't draw any nearer.

He simply settles down on the grass, draws his knees up beneath his chin, folds his arms around them and...watches.

21st - 23rd ; but i'm a missile that's guided to you;

Of course it wasn't real.

Apparently music is how you're supposed to destroy the things, but he's kind of lacking the instrumentation and an additional pair of willing voices for the sake of the three-part harmony that's supposed to be the kicker here. And, frankly, in his adrenaline-soaked, survivalist state, he doesn't have much of an instinct for memorization of lyrics from the Top Ten Hits From the Nineties listings in an off-brand version of a world not unlike his own.

It's kind of hard to be scared of zombies at this point, though. He'll give Wonderland that much; it sure knows how to desensitize.

He's not doing too badly, all things considered. You'll find him perched just alongside a sluggish river of viscous, rainbow-tinted water, having deftly dug a trench out from the sparkling earth and filled the bottom of the ditch with knitting needles, points up, to catch any one of the slavering horde that decides he looks interesting enough.

It's not a permanent measure by any means, but it's only until he can figure out how to get the busted karaoke machine he's been tinkering worth to start working again.

wildcard ; you're the one habit i just can't kick

[If you want a closed prompt with either Frisk or Tim, let me know here or at arrpee! Just because this is initially a Tim log doesn't mean I can't toss Frisk in if you wanna do something with them! I will match prose or brackets!]

Comments

20th; confound this prompt i'm on semi-hiatus but

[burntvideocassette]

[Jay nearly stumbles over Tim, half-blind from the searing Lisa Frank workout video hell this place has become.]

[He's managed to retain his own wardrobe, and the faded earth tones make him stick out like a sore thumb, but for one detail: he's carrying his old camera. The weight's just right, the way the lens cover sticks is just right, the scrape across the side is just right--it's...he's missed this. He didn't realize how off the other one felt by comparison.]

[He nearly asks what Tim's looking at, but he spots it himself first.]

[It's them. It's him.]

[They're okay.]

[He freezes in place. The camera's rolling.]

[Where's Tim? (Here, but--no, he's supposed to be there, right?) Where's Alex?]

[Where's Jessica?]

[postictal]

[The difference between Wonderland's recreation of Jay and this one couldn't be more stark. The separation is obvious. He didn't even need to see him toting around a camera to know it was the real deal.]

Probably shouldn't interrupt them. [It's said simply, easily, like this isn't an existential crisis rolled up into something potentially horrifying.]

[They look happy, after all.]

[It'd be a shame to ruin it.]

[burntvideocassette]

Yeah?

[It's quiet, detached.]

[Tim seems to know more than Jay does, more than he's letting on, but that's...that's just typical, isn't it?]

[Still, he watches in silence as Brian says something, and Sarah gives him a look before collapsing into giggles.]

[Jay watches himself laugh. It looks unnatural, but...good. It's good. The Jay over there is happy.]

[Slowly, he lowers himself down onto the grass next to Tim.]

You know what this is?

[It's not rhetorical; it's genuinely curious and spoken at a whisper. He doesn't want to interrupt.]

[postictal]

Probably a wish-come-true sort of deal.

[He shrugs. Seems par for the course as far as Wonderland is concerned. Playing on your dreams and expectations. It's already made him relive the worst days of his life - maybe now, it's elected to give him a taste of the best.]

[Purely from a distance.]

Could be wrong, but... [He lets the sentence dwindle out, watching a quartet of flash-frozen smiles.] I kinda doubt it.

20th go out in the world to start over again and again

[deadshapes]

[It took her less than a day to figure it out. And it was so damn nice at first, just--the idea of seeing them all again, having any one person in Wonderland that she could relate to. It's like everyone else has some other person from their own world to talk to, and here's Mae, all alone, dealing with the hundredth time someone asks if she's really a cat.]

[And all of them were there, and she could ignore how they were a bit too brightly colored. Gregg at least fit right in to all this hypercolored candy-coated bullshit. But then Bea started humming some Nineties pop song, and Angus mentioned some video game he never in a thousand years would play, and it all--broke apart. Like last time. Like every time Wonderland messes with her head and leaves her questioning what's real.]

[So now she's wandering, a pink and green striped nailbat slung over her shoulder, feeling wild and like she's the last survivor of some kind of glitter-based apocalypse. She's been smashing shit as she goes, everything that looks too sparkly and happy and sugary. She's thinking maybe if she breaks enough, then at least her mind will stop being so broken.]

[She's at least tried to avoid going after any people (teddy bears and unicorns have been fair game), but this group--humans, of course, cause it's always humans, no time for the rest of us--they just look so goddamn happy. Glittery sitcom fake fake fake happiness, except for the weird stalker guy who's watching them from the distance. She wants to smash their dumb human faces in, turn them into the dumb bright pixels she knows they really are. She's fighting it. She doesn't want to be that anymore. She's sick of breaking people, herself included.]

[Her grip just tightens on the nailbat as she debates and debates, eyes flicking from the laughing group to their apparent stalker, an absolute cloud of menace and violence around her. It's even manifesting itself as a goddamn thundercloud above her head, like this is all some cartoon. Like that helps her not want to do some literal murder here.]

[She's gotta hit something.]

[So she takes it out on a nearby trashcan instead, knocking it over and smashing it repeatedly with her bat, denting it inward. She's hoping for a reaction, or at least to just make them stop laughing like that. Anything, anything real.]

[postictal]

[The clang of disrupted trash cans, of something twee and sparkly being crushed into aluminum foil, makes him jump. He'd been a little lost in the watching of a world he wasn't allowed to interfere with, and completely lost the thread of why there's a) a girl who looks like a cat, and b) she's seen fit to start wrecking shit indiscriminately.]

[The fact that she is, in fact, wrecking shit is a pretty fair indicator that she's not a construct of this fabricated reality. Tim hauls himself warily to his feet and moves warily closer, hands shoved in his pockets.]

'S not really gonna make 'em go away, [he says, helpfully.] Sorry.

[deadshapes]

[This stupid trashcan is also glittery, and the more she hits it, the more it's like something about it just kind of--dies. It warps and twists, until it's just ugly, rusted, blackened metal. And that feels so much better. It's awful, but it's better somehow, because it means there really is a way out of here.]

[Now the stalker guy is approaching her, though, while the fake fake humans keep on laughing like nothing is wrong. Which means stalker guy might actually be someone real. He even talks to her, without any of that nasty pep in his voice, even though he's--it's hard to hear him at first. Just over the tinny noise in her head.]

[She glares at him.]

They'll probably go away if I smash their faces instead.

22nd and i'll tell you that i am fine

[punful]

[Zombie events are, at this point, just exhausting. They don't even vary that much. Some kind of human disease or fungus or curse or magic, it's all the same. Downright rote at this point. None of this has ever, at any point, posed a real threat to him, because no event so far has decided to combine zombies with a general lack of monster magic. He's fucked if it ever happens, but for now, it's just a matter of abusing shortcuts, like always.]

[The issue is always other people, but that's almost always resolved by just sorta--taking them with him. Easy. The shine and neon of is just flavor, reminding him a bit too much of getting stabbed and watching a few pastel candies fall out of his shirt.]

[Wonderland does love combining the cutesy with the existentially horrifying.]

[Alphys and Mettaton are fine at this point, so he's just wandering. Idly blipping along here and there, taking naps on roofs and up trees. The river provides a bit of cover, since zombies never seem to mix well with water--even...sugar water, or whatever the hell it is. So he blips along it a hundred or so yards at a time, looking for a tree to camp out in.]

[Instead he lands twenty or so feet behind one of the handful of people who just really don't do well with teleporting monsters. Tim's hunched near the water, and from a distance, Sans hadn't even seen him.]

[Aw, fuck.]

aw, fuck.

[Their last conversation was, well, something, and lately they only ever seem to talk when everything is fucked up like this. Sans would rather not rehash all that, but--again, other people. He'd even told Shepard that it could be his thing, teleporting people to safety. Tim seems safe enough for now, but he should make sure. One of those things that Good People do.]

hey, tim, i'm here.

[In case he didn't hear him before. Startling people--especially friends--has gotten very, very old.]

you, uh. need a lift?

[postictal]

[There's the familiar hitch to his shoulders, the creeping jump of heart-skip-thud that comes with something pale and bleached manifesting abruptly, and there it is, only it isn't It at all, which should figure, because the only thing worse than It showing up is It showing up in this saccharine, hyper-neon hell.]

...hey.

[He recovers masterfully, all things considered. All his fight or flight has been mashed down into a dulled, wearied instinct to keep fucking going, despite all else.]

Pretty sure I'm good here. None of 'em have gotten past yet. [He jerks his chin at his little stake-moat, which has ensnared a mere handful of moaning victims.]

[punful]

[He sees the tension, covered up and smoothed out in an instant. He's not sure if Tim is getting to be more comfortable with it, or if he's just getting better at forcing calm for Sans's sake. Or if he's as exhausted by this event as Sans is.]

[He steps close enough to see what Tim is gesturing at. Oh, wow. Yikes. Good thing Sans didn't overshoot.]

you made this?

[On closer inspection, the dirt is freshly moved, and those are definitely knitting needles. Zombies impaled on knitting needles. It's actually impressive.]

dude. creative.

[He even means it.]

some of the buildings haven't been overrun yet. they're a bit safer than out here, if you want.

[He gestures toward a small, rainbow-colored cluster of buildings in the distance.]

a very timful meeting, day 22

[mrsarcastic003]

[Tim had been extremely dismayed to learn that three part harmony is the only thing that can stop these zombies--though that does sound significantly better than the last time he'd dealt with zombies. At least he won't need a gun this time, but it's not like he's spoiled for choice in singing partners right now.

There are some zombies behind him, but he seems to have lost them for now as he comes up to the knitting needle-filled trench and the person on the other side messing with... is that a karaoke machine? How fortuitous.

He pulls back to get a running start and leap across the trench.]

Mind if I join you?

double the tims double the fun

[postictal]

Jesus.

[He doesn’t mean it. But he jumps, apparently not expecting a kid to come sailing into his little stake-out here apropos of nothing. He wants to say maybe he’s seen the kid around the Masons’ place, but of course he has - this would be the infamous other Tim. Evidently Wonderland doesn’t bother with name limits. Also evidently, other Tim is quite the athlete.]

Might as well, I guess. None of them have gotten through yet. [A quick once over. No gray skin. Looks healthy. Probably not here to eat his brains.]

Let’s hope none of them can jump like that.

[mrsarcastic003]

[Nope, Tim is not hungry for human flesh. In fact, Tim is much more interested in the piece of musical--can it be called musical if it's karaoke?--equipment other Tim is working on.]

Not that I've seen, but you never know what kind of gymnastic abilities Wonderland monsters are going to have.

Is that working?

19th

[yelloweyed]

[It's amazing how quickly David recognizes the fake world around him for what it is. It's even more amazing how he still allows himself to be drawn in, not caring one bit how he's accepted it all as a hallucination.

He takes hold of Syd's hand and leads her as they cross the too-green grass and marvel at the record number of rainbows in the sky. They see a group of people talking and laughing and it all seems just so very... nice. It's nice. Usually his hallucinations are terrifying, but he likes this one.

David spots the man watching and stops. He squeezes Syd's hand.]

If you're trying to eavesdrop, you should probably do it with a little more subtlety.

[postictal]

[Two people. One person? Hard to tell. At least one of them is real, he’s pretty sure, seeing as he doesn’t recognize either one of them. And be from his head. His mental breaks are kind enough to be obvious in that regard, at least.]

[He regards them both quietly for a moment before he shrugs.]

They can’t see me, anyway. I checked.

[That’s what makes this the true fantasy, after all.]

[Tim himself has been omitted entirely.]

[yelloweyed]

[They can't see him? Still kind of creepy, but maybe that means...]

Are you... not real?

[Syd reacts suddenly, strongly, jerking her hand away from David.

You can't just ask people if they're not real, David, she says, staring down at her feet.]

No, Syd, it's okay, I'm sorry...

[He reaches over again and offers a gentle, soothing touch to her shoulder. She doesn't avoid him. She wraps an arm around his again, hesitant but not unwilling.

Syd comforted for now, he turns back to the invisible man.]

It's just that, you know, I... can't always tell. It's, uh, a thing. I'm working on.

22nd because it's been too damn long

[scoutsniper]

[Fuck music, and fuck zombies and fuck this place and fuck pretty much everything. All this rainbow colored shit was like one of his daughter's school notebooks threw up after binging on cupcakes.

Frank's stomping, disgruntled that once again, he can't kill the shit out of anything. Come on, man. He's got one goddam job skill and it has not been useful ONCE since he's arrived. That is absolute bullshit.

But not as much bullshit as this...are those goddam knitting needles? ]

Are you for fucking real?

oh hell yes

[postictal]

[Wow, look who it is.]

[It's a good job that Tim's not especially interested in picking fights with the reanimated dead or the living, particularly now, because that disparaging tone kind of implies that Frank is not only pissed off that Tim's created a little stake-moat for himself here, but that he's not done it to Frank's standards.]

[He doesn't quite scowl, but it's a near thing.]

You see any spikes or barbed wire around here? They can't get through it, all right?

[scoutsniper]

[ Hell yeah, look who it is. The guy who thinks you're a goddam weirdo. And here you are, proving that exact point. Good work, bro. ]

A board of wood. Or as soon as one goes down, they can walk across him.

Where's your backup plan?

23rd, and i'm so sorry

[shrinkage]

A tall man in a bright orange backwards ballcap, matching hi-tops, and cut-off blue jeans is hanging perilously above the knitting needles of doom. He lets out a soft wail of effort but the rest of him is soft, too, and his hands are starting to slip.

"Help. Help! Help, help, help," he pleads. It's utterly pitiful. "Someone? Anyone? Help?"

why would you ever be sorry for this

[postictal]

Why this.

Why is this happening. This was supposed to be a zombie flytrap, not a means of attracting yet more neon-clad denizens of this imaginary Wonderlandland. Assuming that’s what he is - it’s hard to be sure.

Tim might be an asshole, he knows full well, but he’s not so heartless that he’d leave someone to fall to their horrible death by knitting needle impalement. With a sigh, he leans over and stretches out a hand.

“The hell are you doing?”

asljdkf; so you like manbabies huh ok good to know

[shrinkage]

Being an utter turd.

But Ray does at least have the ability to grab that hand and start hoisting himself upward, all scrabbling and huffing and puffing. Once over the edge, he rolls onto his back in exhaustion.

The bright red letters of an old D.A.R.E. t-shirt are mocking and unkind. He finally answers.

"Thought I could jump it?"

shows up 15 min late with starbucks, fantasy yo

[normandysbest]

She figured it out all too quickly.

If it wasn't for the candy colored nightmare, it might have taken her longer to catch on, her friends all around her. It also might have taken her longer if half the people she was seeing weren't certifiably dead. But that's just how it is, when something's trying to keep her down. It reminds her of her failures but it gets her moving.

She doesn't find him on purpose. Shepard's looking for people she knows, certainly, but she sees him before everyone else, and just... silently takes a seat in the grass. Lets a gentle wind brush through her hair.

"Friends of yours?" She hasn't looked very closely at them, a little afraid of what she might see.

[postictal]

She doesn't need to worry. (He) isn't there. It's just a collective of four - though she's certain to recognize one of the faces. Maybe two, depending on how well she might know Brian.

The thought makes him tense. The recognition of how well their last meeting went hunches his shoulders to his ears, and he doesn't look at her; just rests his hands across the grass and squeezes at a fistful of dirt to keep from clawing at his own arms.

"Wouldn't say that," says Tim. He still can't so much as look at her. "Just some people I knew in college."

[normandysbest]

She can see Jay out there-- Brian well enough, but it's more like she recognizes it as she sees him, and not someone she'd expect to be here. Like something that only really made sense once it was presented to her. She knows it's... probably rough for him, to have her on top of all of this. But she does want to talk to him. It's been a while. She should have said something earlier.

"Still. Looks like friendly faces." Shepard takes another breath, looking towards the group instead of him. "You thinking about talking to them?"