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

[deadshapes]

...This is your--fantasy or whatever, and you're not even in it?

[That's how all of this works, right? Everyone gets their own little fantastical corner of the world, where all of their wishes are granted and everything they could want is just handed to them.]

[So this makes no sense. Unless the thing he wants is...]

[She lowers her bat, resting the end on the ground, seemingly thinking for a bit.]

Well that's effing dark.

[She kind of wants to take his hand and bring him somewhere else, because this can't possibly be healthy. He needs a bat of his own and to go smash some stuff, maybe.]

[Not everyone deals with their problems with violence, Mae.]

You know that's also bullshit, right? Haven't you ever seen that one stupid--like, I guess it's a Christmas movie? It's a Wonderful Life or whatever?

[She grinds her bat into the dirt a bit. Ugh, what's she gonna do, give a pep talk to this guy she just met who apparently would rather just not exist or something? It just, God, it rubs her the wrong way, like everything else in this shitty event.]

This whole world's an effing liar.

[postictal]

[He shrugs.]

[Look at them; don't they look happy? Don't they seem better like this? No awful, unknowable things hanging over their heads. No caved-in skulls or bruises in the shape of handprints clenched around their necks. No screams. No burned-out corpses. No gasoline, clinging tacky and sap-sticky to anyone's nostrils or the backs of their throats.]

[No cameras. No tapes.]

[Without him, everyone's...free.]

I've heard of it. Never actually seen it. [Maybe it'd be too much like his life.]

[The world's a liar, she says. Does she know she's talking to one now? Probably not; it's the nature of liars to be difficult to detect.]

Most people are liars.

[deadshapes]

[He just shrugs, like it doesn't matter. What the hell? How can he be so blase about not existing.]

You should. Cause the point is that it's stupid to think the world would be the same or better off if someone just didn't exist.

[He's not saying anything, though, so he probably doesn't want to discuss it. Nor does he need some freaking therapizing from the crazy girl who just ran up and started beating the shit out of a sparkly trashcan.]

I didn't say people, I said the world. Everyone lies, that's just a people thing, who cares? [She grinds her bat a bit deeper into the ground.] It's this event, it's not just messing with people's heads and tricking them. It's lying. It's like, saying everything can be this stupid sugary garbage, when it freaking can't, because in life you get hurt all the time, and people cry, and that's how it should be. And I'm saying all this dumb shit and you don't even care, cause you don't even know me, I'm just the crazy girl hitting trashcans and being angry.

[Hey, Killer.]

Whatever, this is stupid. I'm gonna find more stuff to hit. You wanna come with me, or you gonna--stay and watch TV?

[postictal]

[Maybe it is stupid. Maybe that's what makes it a fantasy. Maybe it's a pointless endeavor, and removing him from the equation would just delay the inevitable. But - for a little while, he gets to pretend, and that's fine, isn't it?]

[He has to pull the thoughts away like strings of taffy, like amber sap, tacky and stuck to the edges of his brain. She's rapidly approaching some kind of asymptote, and he has no idea how to derail. Should he derail? Is that his responsibility still, as a non-person non-entity?]

I'm just the crazy guy staring off into space, so I guess we're even.

[deadshapes]

[Fantasies, she figures, are supposed to be fun. Building a robot out of broken parts and then leaving it in the middle of the woods for someone else to find and make up stories about.]

[Well, maybe fantasies can also be stupid.]

[It's just not helping her nerves right now, and she knows if she sticks around here any longer, she's gonna say or do something she's really gonna regret. There's no popping these bubbles, not the one surrounding the fake laughing humans, or the one surrounding this--sad, real human.]

Whatever.

[She rests her bat on her shoulder and stalks off.]