entrancelogs | Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore

Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore | OPEN

Who: E V E R Y O N E (Including our 4th wall guests!)
Where: Everywhere, one both Mirror and Real Side!
When: December 12th - December 18th (WEEK ONE)
Rating: PG-13, warn if going higher
Summary: This year's Ewaymas celebration rolls out the way it usually does, with intense decorating, a sudden snowfall and...far more arrivals than usual! New faces and old fill the mansion - but why would Wonderland bring so many people at once? And why do some of them remember Wonderland?
The Story:

On the evening before December 12th, the captives of Wonderland might be awoken by a loud commotion. Some of it is typical Ewaymas noise, likely familiar to anyone who has been in Wonderland for more than a year – construction sounds and jingle bells as Wonderland decks its own halls quite literally. Garland and lights race down the walls and down the stairs, and stockings appear on the walls for each and every person in Wonderland, embroidered with their names. There are decorative candles everywhere, and all sorts of decorations for every conceivable winter holiday, even if it does not align perfectly to the dates of Ewaymas. Time isn't real, so there will be menorahs and dreidels and Star of Davids even though Hanukkah ended two days prior. And of course, in the front hall, growing straight out of the floor, is a large decorated tree full of ornaments for everyone. And as always, it will have snowed heavily overnight, bringing all of the snow Wonderland will have between now and spring.

There is a second source of commotion in the night though – the sound of a crowd.

Over the course of the night, dozens of new arrivals will appear in Wonderland. Some for the first time. Some wondering how they managed to return with their memories. Others stumbling in with no recollection of ever having been here. Some might be friends from other timelines, other possibilities, and some might even be doubles of people who are already in Wonderland. It's strange for Wonderland to drag so many people into the mansion at once, but everything seems to indicate that they are supposed to be there. They have their own network devices and even have their own stockings on the wall and their own ornaments on the tree – by all accounts, it seems Wonderland expects that they'll be staying, and is treating them like any other new arrivals. Please, make them feel at home and help them settle in nicely.

The first few days will be for catching up with old friends and enjoying the decorations and settling into Wonderland. However, within a couple of days the decorations will start to glitch, much the way corrupted computer graphics might. Lights might change abruptly from multi-color to blue or white, entire décor styles will abruptly change, candle flames will flicker on and off like broken fluorescent lights, and any singing decorations might loop on a beat or two over and over putting you into an eternal hell. Wonderland doesn't seem to be able to stick to one motif, and it can't stop changing. These glitches are occurring on both the Real Side of Wonderland and the Mirror Side.

By the 15th, these glitches will include entire rooms changing into different holiday scenes. These scenes will all be of characters at various winter holidays in the past, the present (in their world), or a possible future. At this point in the event, characters will still be able to navigate the basic mansion and be able to exit these moments easily. These scenes cannot be interacted with – Wonderland seems to consider them another form of decorating. Unlike previous events of this type, these scenes will not loop at first. They will play once, and then Wonderland will glitch and correct itself to be the room it is supposed to be. The scene might play again, but it will be in a different location if it does.

By this point, Wonderland is having an increasingly difficult time holding itself together in a way that makes geographical sense. You might exit one room, even a room that was not previously playing a scene, and find yourself in the kitchen or on the roof instead of in the hallway. You might open a door that you were sure led to your room only to see a ten foot drop to the grounds outside.

This is the mingle log for WEEK ONE! For more information on this part of the event or any questions, please head over to the plot post, or check out our Fourth Wall Master Post for your other Fourth Wall event needs! Prose or [action brackets] are welcome. Please clearly indicate whether your character is on the Real Side or Mirror Side in your top levels. And of course, have fun! ♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Tim rolls one shoulder fluidly, a dismissive shrug.]

Cut him a break. He's an asshole.

[Zero fucking qualms with badmouthing himself, quantum duplicate or no. Tim Wright doesn't hate a lot of things in his life, but there's one target of his vitriol that remains more or less consistent. He's sure the other guy would loathe him right on back, so he calls it even.]

We can both choose to pass.

[The noise Jay makes at that is very nearly a laugh.]

[But then, there it is. The catch. Not that Jay's got much he cares to keep secret, but if it goes both ways, fine. If this Tim tries to push anything too far, he knows he's got an out.]

[Jay settles down into a chair at the kitchen table, struck by a gut-wrenching sense of déjà vu. (And a vague craving for cold cheese pizza.)]

Sure. Deal.

All right.

[Given that Jay's started off with so many questions of his own, Tim will go ahead and take this one. Conspicuously aware of the hoodie he's wearing, and struck with the stupid urge to cross his arms like that might cover it up - he nonetheless soldiers on.]

[He's gotten good at that.]

What's the last thing you remember from home?

[Jay freezes, grip tightening around the camera.]

[He can't pass on the first question. He can't do that. He can't do that, or else Tim's not going to give him anything. He's just gonna fall silent. Just gonna lay there, stuck, with the blood pooling beneath--]

[It's a simple question. Just answer.]

[Just answer.]

[Hard to do that with his face burning up, his tongue swelling in his throat, the air wheezing.]

[Just answer.]

Trees.

[Great.]

I was looking-- [He attempts to clear his throat.] They kept...changing, so I had to-- Wasn't supposed to move, so I had to... [His voice climbs higher, more frantic.] Couldn't just go anywhere, y'know, so I had to stay, to stay--

[He hears his voice crack, and he snaps his jaw shut.]

[One, two, three, four, five.]

[From home, Tim asked. Maybe he can reframe it. "Home" can mean two things, here, at least.]

[One, two, three, four, five.]

Alex. He found me, and. [Feels wrong just saying it, so he gestures vaguely toward his midsection, stitched up by Wonderland, cleaned up by the Masons.] Y'know.

[He imagined a best case scenario and a worst case. Best case: he's from the point in time where they actually functioned as something approximating a team. Worst case: he remembers in excruciating detail how it felt for a bullet to punch into his liver and bleed him out slowly.]

[But that wasn't the end of it.]

[Stupid for him to think it was. He was still alive when It took him, and then he reappeared in a flare of static, slumped and silent.]

[No question where he ended up in the in between.]

[Didn't want to consider that possibility. Or maybe just - didn't think to. That there would be a permanence to that.]

I'm sorry.

[He says it slowly, clearly.]

[Make sure it's obvious that he means it.]

[Jay just...stares.]

[He's not sure what sets his mouth moving. It's operating separately from the rest of him, signals delayed, caught in the static. It's all instinct. But when he listens, it's:]

S-sorry. Shouldn't've...sorry. Sorry.

[He'd sink his face into his hands, claw into the meat of his face, of his scalp, but there's a camera in the way, so he just hangs there, neck crooked.]

Sorry.

[Something went wrong, in the place where it took him. He was stuck, and then he wasn't. He could move. He could think, what little he could force through the static.]

[He'd had a lot of time to think.]

[And one thought, in particular, had been bothering him. Now he's got a chance to do something about it.]

I get it. I know why...

[He can't just steal the words Tim gave him, even if they were Jay's to begin with. He has to put it together himself. Tim--this Tim--is being sincere. Now it's Jay's turn.]

Shouldn't've left. Shouldn't've...freaked out on you.

Edited 2018-12-14 07:21 (UTC)

It wasn't all on you.

[He's had time to think about it, see. He's had years to dwell, turn over the possibilities in his head. Think about all the shit he did wrong, and what he could've done better. Can't fix it now, of course. And when every ounce of yourself has to be poured into surviving each day, you can't really afford to consider everything you did wrong.]

[If it were someone else, maybe they would've appreciated a hand on the shoulder, something like that. Put it's not, and he's not, so he doesn't take that chance.]

I took a risk at your expense. That was the consequence.

[He's learned a lot about those. Consequences.]

[Huh.]

[Sounds pretty straightforward, when he puts it like that. Jay fucked up. So did Tim. Tim lied, and Jay left. Jay lost it, and Tim left. That was the consequence.]

[Problem is, that's not how it's supposed to go. He--they, for a little while there--weren't supposed to be seeing any consequences. They were just gathering information, just laying it all out. They were the framing device.]

[Still makes sense, though. A sick, backwards kind of sense, but sense nonetheless. The framing device became the B-story. He thought he brought Tim out of the frame with him, thought Tim became another one of the narrators, but maybe it was the other way around.]

[Maybe that thing only really pays attention to characters..]

I mean. [Jay doesn't look up, just keeps fidgeting with the camera strap.] T'be fair, wasn't just us.

Ti-- [He rubs at his temple.] The other you told me what happened. [His voice drops to a low mumble.] When I went...looking for Jessica.

[He had to give some ground, did he? Tim's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't comment on it. There are quite a few choice words he could have for the other him, but he doesn't share any of them. Doesn't wonder about the itch and quake in his chest.]

[It's not important.]

[That camera might get flicked on at any minute.]

What'd he tell you?

[Jay pauses, considers his options.]

[It's tough to describe without just repeating what his Tim did; he's got the words memorized, but he's not sure this Tim would take that too well. Besides, performing what's basically your own death scene as a dramatic monologue isn't exactly something normal people do.]

[Tim looks tense, not that he ever really stopped. More reason to stick to the summary.]

Told me I tried to call. Didn't get through.

[That's not an answer.]

Tried to apologize back then, too, but... [He shrugs, like hearing his own desperate breakdown in Tim's voice was just something that happened.] Forgot.

[He picks at the sleeve of his jacket, hands still resting on the camera.]

Guess you owe me two, now.

Happens like that sometimes.

[He's gotten to experience firsthand, how it feels for your words to be measured in terms of how much weight and forgiveness they can hold. You're worth everything eases the floral agony snared in his chest, but it's the admission to guilt and responsibility that would cure him entirely.]

[Those roots drank him dry. Zinnias twined with snowdrops and geraniums, breathtaking in their beauty.]

I know you didn't mean it.

[For all his talk of the truth, of how vital it is to spread information, Jay would have been bled dry like the rest of them. Blue-purple rosemary blossoms from his chest, dogbane sprouting from his throat, sycamore saplings twisting around his spine, throttling the nerves within.]

[But he's talking now. Maybe it's the easy way Tim's holding himself, the way he offers up comforting sentiments as easily as his Tim would ask for a stick of beef jerky and another pack of cigarettes at the next rest stop.]

That's the thing, though. I did. At the time, I--I did.

[His eyes dart side to side, scanning the kitchen without meeting Tim's gaze.]

Like, I remember... [He winces, kneading at his forehead.] God. I wanted...

[He wanted Tim's hands tied behind his back, a knife to his throat, a camera on the tripod. He wanted his goddamn answers, Tim, no matter what it took.]

[He wanted to prove the others were real, not just images on tape, wanted to run the blade across their skin and see it split, see the red underneath, pin them down like insects so they'll just stop and fucking listen to him--]

Not anymore. [It's quiet, but vehement, his voice cracking at the edges.] I don't...not for a while.

It wasn't you.

[It wasn't Alex, either. That's what It does. It takes you and twists you, distorts you until you're bleeding black, eyeless and screaming, bright words ripped out over a static brain. Some people can fight it. Some can't.]

[Some refuse the help that would allow them to.]

It's what It does. You know that.

[Maybe one day, he'd learn not to turn that blade upon himself.]

Oh.

[He'd considered it, sure, but it felt too shaky, too hard to measure. The memory loss, sure. The seizures, the blackouts, the hallucinations, fine. Whatever. Those were all concrete symptoms, ones he'd seen Alex display, ones he'd seen scrawled almost illegibly in Tim's medical records.]

["The doctors would never tell me to my face, either, but I'd always hear them say things like...'violent episodes,' or 'delusions', y'know, stuff you can't just tell a little kid."]

Oh.

[He should have known better. He should have put it together, should've noticed back then. All those hours of tape, and apparently he didn't learn a single goddamn thing. If he'd put it together then, if he'd noticed how he was apparently turning into a textbook case for whatever the hell got Tim locked up, if he'd noticed that, yeah, pulling a knife on somebody just because they lied to you--pulling a knife on somebody right after a visit to Rosswood wasn't something he'd do under normal circumstances, maybe none of this would have happened. He could have had his little bullshit tantrum in his hotel room and kept it to himself. The viewers wouldn't have even had to know.]

[Instead, he made an ass of himself and got shot.]

[He needs a minute. Better, he needs to use up one of the questions this Tim owes him.]

You ever...aware of it? When it's you, I mean, not... Obviously you noticed when it was...me.

Edited 2018-12-17 05:44 (UTC)

I don't know anymore.

[It's been years, now, since he's dealt with It. It's hard to believe that his problems were once wholly centered on one easily recognizable thing, one central fucking fulcrum upon which he could divert all his scorn and all his disgust and all his hatred, boiling over like heated water.]

[Before a war he didn't want to be a part of, and a horned god who he didn't really ever get to know, and an archipelago with a new fucking problem every goddamned month.]

It's been years since I've had to...deal with It.

Huh.

[It comes out harsher, more bitter than he intended. There's an infinite multiverse, an infinite number of dimensions, and infinite number of possibilities...and Wonderland sends him back to what might be, objectively, the worst one.]

[Not quite true. The worst would be if he were trapped there. If stuff like this didn't happen, if there wasn't a minuscule chance the world would shift and he'd be hacking his lungs up on the forest floor, with actual sunlight streaming through the branches. Easier to remember what that looks like, back in Wonderland.]

Sorry.

[Not great to be a bitter asshole to the guy who's--at least from what Jay can tell--trying to help you.]

What's the...what's the archipelago like, anyway?

[He raises his eyebrows, over-enunciates the word. He'd say it'd be tough to imagine what Tim would look like living on an island, except Wonderland's provided him with a convenient visual.]

[Tim merely shrugs. If it bothers him, it doesn't show. Things roll off him, over him, to a different extent than they would have years ago. He can't afford to get hung up on shit like someone's fucking tone anymore.]

[If he did, he'd be dead way more often.]

You skipping my turn?

[It's wry in a way that suggests something almost like a joke, but the very act of deliberately highlighting the way Jay's broken the rules is likely to be construed as a snipe.]

[Jay snorts, shaking his head.]

You skipped mine first, so.

[He shrugs. A deal's a deal, Tim.]

You sure didn't seem to mind answering.

[Maybe if he'd called attention to it, Tim would've been a little less exacting. But he didn't, so he's going to get what he gives.]

[He's learned a lot, over time.]

I mean.

[He ducks his head, shoulders hunched. Doesn't make eye contact.]

I posted video of myself getting clocked in the face. Not like I've got much in the way of secrets.

All right.

[His tone is easy and conversational, like he's inquiring about the weather. Offhand.]

So you're not about to pass on any questions anytime soon, then. Seeing as you don't have much in the way of secrets.

[Jay's eyes narrow. He's supposed to be the one with the advantage here. How the hell is Tim turning this around on him?]

If you wanna skip my second question, fine, I guess.

[Redirect. Maybe Jay hasn't got much in the way of secrets, but if his and this Tim's timelines only diverged after Alabama--and from what he's saying, it seems likely--then he knows enough to know where to pry. Jay needs to still be able to pass, and he needs to be able to do it without Tim rubbing it in his face.]

If I walked away right now, and never came back, what would you do?

[Is that his question? Is he playing a hypothetical? Is it a threat?]

[He doesn't say. He doesn't take the bait, and doesn't pursue the conversation. He just moves right on to his own question, and he watches Jay with a weary, unblinking stare.]

[Jay's chest constricts. Panic, it's panic he's feeling, and he'd like it to fucking stop, please.]

Well, I'd--I'd turn the camera back on for starters.

[It's not as pointed as it could be, the words gumming up in his throat. This asshole's even harder to read than his own Tim, and the uneasiness, the lack of any measure of what's going on in his head is dragging sincerity out of Jay whether he likes it or not.]

But seriously...don't. Like, please don't.

[Tim sighs out and rolls his shoulders.]

I can't stay here forever. I've got people I need to get back to. [He says it like he knows for sure he's going to be able to actually...go back. He studies the sprawl of panic that takes root in his guts when he considers the possibility that he can't. That he's stuck here.]

[The sour taste stops the exercise from being as clinical as he'd like.]

[He can't leave. He can't leave them.]

[He adds something else, words that don't feel like him, but have been thought, recited, turned over and over in his head - more times than he can count now.]

[Soft, almost mournful:]

Three miles is a long way to go without stopping.

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cw: body horror, violence

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jay......................

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tIM

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