+ The Time Has Come, the Time Is Now +

[vitaelamorte]

Who: Everyone in Wonderland!
Where: The chessboard hills
When: Monday, June 11, all day starting at 10:00 AM
Rating: R for (sometimes excessive) violence
Summary: The Queen of Hearts has declared war and the time for battle has come.
The Story:
♥ ICly, the Real Things who will act as pieces volunteered and are led by the Red Queen. The Mirrors were chosen by the Queen of Hearts without being given a choice. The Queen of Hearts announced her choices to her Mirrors very directly, with an order to show up at 10:00 AM on the chessboard, ready to fight. The Red Queen announced her choices more politely, but just as firmly, with a text message sent out over the network listing her pieces and requesting their assistance to protect their fellow Real Things. Characters were not ICly able to respond to this message.

♥ Those pieces who choose to obey the summons will have time to gather any items or weapons they might want to have with them, within reason. Those who don't heed the summons will find themselves suddenly and instantly transported to their square on the chessboard when 10:00 AM rolls around. They will arrive with anything that was on their person at the time, as well as one weapon (whatever it would be normal for them to use). Likewise, any spectators who are not in or around the stands by 10:00 AM will find themselves transported there.

♥ Each player sports an armband, white for the Real Things and Black for the Mirrors, with the shape of their assigned chess piece embroidered in the opposite color. Royalty pieces wear crowns indicative of their status. Should a pawn be promoted to queen, a crown will appear on their head.

♥ Pieces will find that they can't leave their assigned spots until they're told what square to move to by either the Queen of Hearts or the Red Queen. And if they refuse to move, after a couple of moments, an unseen force will scoot them along to their new space.

♥ When threading moves on the board, please find the appropriate top-level under which to comment! It might be helpful to label your thread with which move/encounter you're playing out.

♥ Players on the board can not communicate with those in the stands and vice versa (other than by jumping around and flailing, I guess). However, players on the board can communicate directly with those in squares adjacent to them or with any challenger whose square they share. Since some pieces have a lot of down time, feel free to have them chat with others on the board while they're waiting around.

♥ Directions from the Queens can be assumed. Go ahead and play out moves without waiting for a comment to officially announce them.

♥ The plotting and info post for this log is here.

♥ For your convenience, here are links to the thread headers:

The Donation Box
Pre-Game
The Game - Moves 1-20
The Game - Moves 21-40
The Game - Moves 41-60
The Game - Moves 61-80
The Game - Moves 81-100
The Game - Moves 101-117
The Holding Area
The Stands

Have fun!

Comments

[unwoundtape]

[A threat display. Charming.]

[Still, it's enough to pry Jay's attention away from the camera. They may have five lives on this side of the glass, but he'd rather not waste one on Tim. He braces himself to move, if necessary. Only if necessary.]

Just repeating what we both already know.

[He looks over at Tim, wide-eyed and guileless. Clearly. Clearly, Timothy.]

Isn't that my job?

[He can't help the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.]

Buddy?

[pseudological]

I strangled your Real, you now.

[His attention is still on the viewfinder; the Mirror isn't worth anything more than that, it seems. He's dangerous in the right circumstances. But this, here, now? He's vulnerable as anyone.]

[And there's no guarantee in regards to the outcome of this little showdown. Or what it means for them.]

Would've killed him, if it wasn't Christmas. All he could do was gasp like a fish for hours.

[unwoundtape]

I know.

[Does he think this is some shocking revelation? Does he remember who he's talking to?]

I watched.

For hours.

[Again, he mimics back the cadence of Tim's speech. He may have been at the party, too, that evening, but that's the beauty of a surveillance system. You can wind back the tape and watch as many times as you like.]

[This would, perhaps, be a little more threatening if he didn't have a stripe of sunscreen down his nose and a pair of closet-generated Ray-Bans, but sometimes we all have to make do with what we have.]

[pseudological]

[He moves, snake-strike efficient, to rest a heavy hand on the back of the other Mirror's neck. Strokes the knob of his bony spine once, with the pad of his thumb. Exacts just enough pressure for the feeling to hopefully linger.]

[The shot never dips.]

You'd better watch yourself. That's all I'm saying.

[unwoundtape]

[Jay flinches, but it's too little, too late. The skin at the nape of his neck pinches between thumb and bone, hard enough to bruise.]

[Jay's shot shudders, and Tim's never dips.]

[There's a cacophony around them, spread across the bleachers. The supports rattle beneath them, shifting with the footsteps of two-hundred-minus-thirty-two-odd residents of the Mansion, all marching out of step. The force against his skin buzzes and spreads, itching tendrils trailing down his spine and across his shoulders.]

[He grits his teeth, frozen in place, and doesn't speak.]

[pseudological]

[He lets go half a moment later.]

[For all his fellow Mirror's posturing, he's still a Jay. And Jays aren't very good liars by default. They can pretend they hold all the cards that they want, but if you don't keep them in line, they'll take more and more of your precious time, and act like they're owed it.]

Not everyone can take it like I can.

[Not everyone is willing to stomach your bullshit like I am.]

[unwoundtape]

[Jay braces himself, poised to move if Tim even starts to reach for him again.]

[There's a question on the tip of his tongue, one he grits his teeth to keep from slipping out. They're on camera. If it were just his, he could attempt to scrub the audio, hide the gap under layers of reused crowd chatter. Tim's camera is still rolling, though, and he can't afford to take that chance.]

[There are so few of us. How can you risk thinning our numbers even further?]

[It hungers, but It doesn't need death to feed.]

[If you slaughter the priests, who is left to perform the sacrifice?]

[Jay slows his breathing.]

Watch yourself.

[Another phrase, parroted back. It's easier, when the world's too bright and he can still feel the stinging mark at the back of his neck.]

Not everyone can take your temper like I can.

[pseudological]

I'm not the one whose Real can't keep himself alive without someone holding his leash, Jay.

[Tims. They're persistent little sons of bitches, aren't they? Even when they really, really shouldn't be.]

But, please. Go on. Tell me all about your interactions with this outside world that you're so fond of watching, and never actually engaging in. Must know way more than little old me, who's out there living in it, hm?

[unwoundtape]

People don't like getting strangled, Tim.

[He speaks precisely, relishing every consonant. Mimicking his Real's halting drawl may be fun, but it's just as fun to go the opposite direction. Besides, some facts are easy to intuit, even without that practical experience Tim finds so precious.]

Even my Real can figure that one out. Good luck winning him over after that little stunt.

[pseudological]

[He just never learns, does he? Never stops running his shitty little mouth. Some people might find that charming.]

[But it gets old, fast.]

What makes you think I ever wanted to win him over? Just 'cause you're stupid enough to think my Real's gonna be your hot new item doesn't mean that we're all that dense, pal.

[unwoundtape]

[Jay freezes, thin smirk locked in place.]

[Well, fuck.]

[He'd make a quip about jealousy, if he could force it through the lockjaw.]

If you find a way... [It's quiet, but at least it's words.] ...to make him useful like this...you let me know.

[pseudological]

I thought that was your job, hot stuff.

[Isn't he just the worst thing ever? God I hate him.]

I thought you and him were getting along pretty nice. It was real sweet. He seems to like you. Which is funny, 'cause I think he actually means it.

[unwoundtape]

[Jay squints.]

[Fine. If Tim's gonna lay it on thick, he'll lay it on thicker.]

Gee, you really think so?

[He can't quite manage a falsetto when he's speaking at his natural half-whisper, but the sarcastic, sickly-sweet delivery is still in there somewhere.]

[pseudological]

[Two can play at that game. His grin widens.]

He gonna save you, you think? He couldn't save the Real you, so I dunno how he plans to salvage a cheap knock-off.

[unwoundtape]

[Jay's false grin widens to match Tim's.]

Dunno. You did such a good job of it yourself. Not sure how he expects to compete.

[Loath as he is to admit it, he likely wouldn't have stumbled upon It without Tim's assistance.]

[Wouldn't have been Saved without him.]

1/3

[pseudological]

[He gives it a moment.]

[Then he sighs. He sounds...disappointed, and genuinely so.]

I keep thinking I should give you more chances. Let you try and be something besides the moron you're always meant to be. You're useful, in this...pathetic puppy kind of way. Those big eyes, begging people to let you in.

2/3

[pseudological]

But you're so

goddamn



stupid.

3/3

[pseudological]

[And he spins, lets the shot drop, and aims to slam his knee up against Jay's solar plexus.]

Didn't I just tell you


to watch yourself.

[unwoundtape]

[He was braced for movement, braced for Tim to reach out again. But then he tried to get another word in, played along, got so caught up in the part that he let his guard down.]

[Stupid.]

[He tries to move, but the bench behind catches him across the back of his legs, and the blow still]

[connects.]



[Jay remembers pain. He remembers the way it sang across his neurons, constricting his lungs until he let it overtake him. He remembers altercations in Rosswood, chance meetings with strangers that concluded with blood caked under his fingernails. He remembers the parking lot, same as his Real, nearly shot-for-shot.]

[Memories didn't prepare him.]

[His vision goes white as a low, strangled sound rips from his throat. He can feel himself moving, the muscles across his midsection seizing in a defensive spasm as his hands jolt forward for stability.]

[Not stability, he realizes.]

[Instinct. Fight or flight, and the former comes quickest.]

[He's reaching blind, and he can't be sure the arc will connect. Even if he can't dig his nails into the flesh of Tim's neck, he'll take what he can grab. A handful of hair, the collar of his shirt--or just empty air, sending him crashing hard into the row of benches below.]

[pseudological]

You think you're some kind of equal. Think you can talk back to me.

[He speaks slow and leisurely, like it's sports commentary. Ghost-pale hands knot a fistful of shirt at his collar, and the Mirror is careful, so fucking careful, to set the camera down on one of the benches. Leaves it running.]

[And then closes his fingers around Jay's wrist. Can feel the spidery threads of blue veins pulsing beneath the pale translucency of his skin, and the ulna, fragile as chicken bones.]

[He squeezes.]

This is what got your Real killed. You think you're any better, when you're running your mouth at me?

[unwoundtape]

[His own shot's ruined, long ruined; even with the spots across his vision starting to clear, he can't even see where the camera dropped.]

[Tim squeezes, and a shock of pain shoots down the radial nerve. Jay still can't find his voice, but that doesn't stop a muffled whimper from crawling out of the back of his throat.]

[Equal? Perhaps not. He wasn't chosen from birth. He didn't start with the patterns of the root system below Rosswood spreading and splitting beneath his skull, and he still has so much to learn.]

[But birthright can make a man complacent.]

[With a jolt, Jay wrenches his wrists to the side, but his full strength isn't behind it. Neither is his full attention. Those are aimed lower, toward the benches.]

[Tim was so careful, setting the camera down.]

[So precise.]

[Pity if Jay's kick connects.]

[pseudological]

[It connects, and the camera goes flying.]

[Tim stills at the soft but nonetheless audible sound of plastic and metal caving in, splintering, breaking. Ruined beyond repair in an instant. The sole indication of the incandescence of his outrage: the way he freezes, and the way his mouth sets in a cold, unsmiling line.]

You really never do learn, do you.

[His free hand closes around the Mirror's throat, and he begins to squeeze that as well.]

[unwoundtape]

[Like déjà vu, in third-person.]

[Jay knew there'd be consequences. It's stupid, wasting energy on a petty victory without a means of escape.]

[But god, was it satisfying.]

[A wide, crooked grin splits his face, blotchy from lack of circulation. I'm a Jay, you dumb fuck. What did you expect?]

[His vision swims, his head buzzes, and it's enough to make his composure falter. Tim's not letting go. He's not--this doesn't feel like a warning. This doesn't feel like a threat.]

[It's only one--no, focus--he's only got the hand around his throat. Can't let him drop his wrist in favor of--]

[In--]

[]

[Can't plan. Now.]

[Jay kicks out toward Tim's midsection. It's clumsy, it's not coordinated, but it's--]

[His knees buckle.]

[He lets them, dropping like a dead weight. Maybe it'll throw him off-balance. Maybe it ]

[]

[Maybe ]

[stop]

[PLEASE]

[pseudological]

[What's that, Jay? You regretting a couple life choices, yet?]

[Too bad. Should've considered that before you decided to worm your way, huh? Should've thought about the consequences for your damn actions for once. Think you're so fucking smart, think you'd outlast your Real, when you're even worse than he is, because your Real doesn't go taunting the thing he knows will kill him for no damn reason.]

[He grins again, and it's cold and snarling.]

[Lets go instead of allowing Jay to carry him downward, and lets the Mirror drop to the floor. Presses the full weight of his foot across the back of Jay's wrist, then stoops down.]

Guess I'll have to make do, hm?

[Reaches down, and plucks Jay's camera, turning it over in his hands.]

[unwoundtape]

[Shaking, Jay draws in a breath through his swollen throat. His head's spinning, but he's awake. He can see enough to move. His hand spiders across the ground, trying to pull himself upright, trying to pull himself away.]

[There's a weight across it, and then agony.]

[A scream wrenches its way out of him, high and hoarse. There's not much air for it.]

[He can see movement, hazy shapes forming and reforming across his vision.]

[He blinks, tilting his head to follow the motion as his chin scrapes across the ground. It's Tim, and he's got--]

[He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel his face go hot, and it's like something plugs into his head, overrides his common sense, overrides the white-hot burn throbbing across his arm. It's like the memories haphazardly stitched into his mind, the ones that are half his and half someone else's, are more important than what's going on in front of him. He can't stop what comes next.]

[REW]

[PLAY]

Give it to me! TIM!

[It sounds wrong, choked, fading out like a weak signal.]

[And beyond that,]

[no no no give it back I NEED IT]

[It's foolish. It's tempting fate. He needs to keep quiet. Needs to keep his head down until he can think without]

[]

[without INTERRUPTIONS.]