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

[Any retort Alex might have had is lost in the reflexive oof that comes from getting nailed in the fucking stomach by some bony asshole's foot.]

Where is she, huh? [The words rupture out of him like something cancerous and leaching, before he can fully process what it is he plans to say.] Don't see Shepard anywhere, here to fucking save you.

Not here to save you, either.

[God, he's on a roll, isn't he? This one's even less coherent than the last. Alex isn't gonna need saving from Jay any time soon.]

[But it's true. Shepard might've been able to keep this from getting out of hand. She could've spared Alex a couple bruises, at least. Jay tries to scramble to his feet.]

[1D20 => 6]

[His leg spasms, collapsing under him. It's not used to this kind of exertion. Still, through ragged breaths, Jay continues:]

She kept talking about you. Turns out you were right about the mole.

[And wouldn't that be Alex Kralie's greatest dream? A Jay who not only isn't dead, but who's also leaking information to the Other Side.]

[Not that there's really one of those, anymore.]

Liar.

[Because it's plain easier to deny it. It's easier to spit the word out and say that he's just trying to get a parting shot in, than it is to consider - what if it's true. It doesn't matter. He washed his hands of this. He washed his hands of all of it.]

You don't get to talk about her like you have any idea.

I'm not--!

[He has to get out of here.]

[1D20 => 19]

[And for once in his miserable life, it doesn't go wrong. Jay sprints for the door, grabbing hold of the handle on the way out.]

[Barricading himself inside was the original plan, but trapping Alex in there instead? An even better plan.]

[Assuming he can get the door shut behind him, and assuming he can find something to keep it that way. Too bad the door only locks from the inside.]

[Alex snarls, tears after. Crashes up against the door as it slams shut, the thudding of meat and muscle impacting an unyielding surface. Pounding up against it would be useless. He does it anyway, once, slamming a clenched fist up against the door with a wordless yell.]

Don't think you can run away forever! You can't, you hear me?

[Jay isn't running. Despite everything, he isn't running; he's holding the door shut from the other side, scanning the theater for a makeshift barricade. There isn't much.]

[This is why he's dead. This, right here, this bullshit. This frail, stupid hope that maybe he can make contact with Alex Kralie. Talk to him. Have a nice conversation. Get the answers he's been trying to find for four and a half years running (nearly six if he counts Wonderland).]

[Jay shouts through the door, voice cracking.]

What's killing me going to fix, huh? You still don't stay dead after five, and It's not here, Alex!

[He's not one for giving up. He starts to kick the door repeatedly, until his toes start to ache. Until the bones in his leg vibrate with the intensity of it, until his teeth ache from gritting them.]

It wasn't supposed to be! You brought it back. You brought It back, after everyone else had forgotten. You think It hasn't followed you here?

You brought It with you.

We've all been here before, Alex! Or other--other versions of us, or the same ones, with our memories wiped, or whatever, but It's been here! For a while!

[YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT scrawled across wrinkled papers]

[It's getting increasingly difficult to hold the door.]

[1D20 => 19 (what)]

[But it holds fast. He's able to get another few thoughts in.]

If it's too late to stop it, then we have to focus on keeping anybody who's seen it safe! Wonderland's just gonna keep bringing us back anyway!

Shut up!

[Hears it cracking, splitting, tearing apart like scabs across his knuckles and he's bleeding out from the bruises on the backs of his hands. His teeth hurt. Gritting, aching, like live fire in his neurons and he can parse the words as they come because Jay isn't saying anything he already knew, but in the face of the cold logic - he should be fucking logical he should be able to compartmentalize this and torque this and do what needs to be done but he can't because he's stuck here.]

[Stuck. Here.]

There is no safe. There is never any safe while It's out there!

[There is no safe.]

[There is no escape.]

[There is no fixing this.]

[But that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do.]

Alex, listen to me.

[His voice climbs in volume, in pitch, cracking at the back of his throat.]

You wanna know how many times Tim and I blacked out, the whole--what, year and a half I was here? You wanna know how much time we lost because of that thing and not Wonderland's...bullshit? None!

[He presses his shoulder against the doorframe, holds onto the knob in a shivering, white-knuckle grip.]

There's ways to block it out! There's--there's stuff you can do; you don't have to--

[D20 => 5]

[He knew it couldn't last. His arms, shaking under the strain, give out.]

LIAR.

[He snarls it out the same time he gives the door one final, furious kick - and it bangs open. He doesn't expect it to give out the way it does, and tumbles forward gracelessly, end over end. He's struggling, kicking, frantic, trying to right himself before Jay can scramble out of his sight.]

[Each word is punctuated by a low, enraged rasp of breath as he gets his legs underneath him.]

It only - works - until - idiots - like you - bring It - all - back!

Would you just listen to me?

[It's snarled from his chest, low and fucking furious.]

[He's standing above Alex, and even with the way he's shaking, the way he feels like the adrenaline's the only thing left propping him up, he doesn't run, not right away.]

[He should, though.]

[1D20 => 2]

[Instead he stumbles, one leg giving out for a fraction of a second before he catches himself.]

[No no no no no no no no no--]

[Just keep breathing. Keep standing. You're not gonna die like this, not again.]

[He's not fucking armed. He doesn't have a gun anymore. He had a chunk of glass buried in his side, scraping up his ribs, tearing into his organs and bleeding him dry into the fucking carpeting. He doesn't have anything but his hands and his legs and the set of his teeth and that's fucking enough.]

[Powering forward, snapping arms around Jay's legs to snarl them up, bring him crashing to the ground.]

[You've done nothing but make everything worse.]

[It's time to fix that.]

[He wasn't prepared for Alex to go low. Even if he were, he probably couldn't have prevented what happens next.]

[Alex's arms wrap around his legs, and he tries to step back, tries to reach for the wall, tries to regain his balance before going toppling backwards.]

[Too bad they're back in the theater.]

[Too bad the walkways are all staircases.]

[1D20 => 10]

[His foot hits empty air, and he fumbles blindly for the handrail. It's not enough to keep him from hitting the ground, not enough to keep his shoulder from wrenching, shooting pain across his back, up his neck.]

[He's going to need a moment to get his bearings.]

[The slow, deliberate way isn't doing it. So he's gonna cut to the case instead. The wake of his own death is still fresh in his veins, in the taste of his saliva, in the tightness in his throat. The adrenaline's still flooding his nervous system in a boiling red heat.]

[So he clenches one hand into a fist and starts bludgeoning every fucking inch of Jay he can reach.]

[Alex's fist knocks into his jaw, and]

[]

[Alex's fist knocks into his gut, and there's]

[Fuck.]

[He can't see straight, but the adrenaline's hit his veins, and he kicks out wildly, just trying to get him off off GET OFF]

[1D20 => 6]

[The kick barely connects, so he grabs for whatever flesh he can reach, digging his stubby nails in, trying to wrench him off any way he can.]

[1D20 => 5]

[It hurts in a distant sense, like he's experiencing it two inches to the left of himself. A throbbing in his hands, where tiny red crescents tear into his skin, a pounding in his head. The after-ache of bruising roaring down the parts of him where Jay manages to reach.]

[If they slow him down, he doesn't feel it. Nothing hurts in comparison to the pain he knows to be absolute.]

[It'll all be over.]

[He slams his fist into Jay's jaw.]

[Snap.]

[His vision goes white for a moment, eyes dull and unfocused, face hot as the blood rushes toward his head.]

[There's something in his mouth, hot and wet. He tries to turn his head to spit, but it's agony. His breaths come short and shallow.]

[He is going to die. He is going to die unless something changes.]

[Do you remember, Jay Merrick?]

[With a growl, bubbling up through the heat in his throat, he shoves his hands up against Alex's neck, digging the nails in. Pin him open. Watch him bleed.]

[1D20 => 2]

[Alex chokes. Chokes on the dried, stale taste of his own vomit, of the cling of blood to the roof of his mouth. Tries to gurgle out some kind of snarled retort that fails, and so settles for trying to claw at Jay's face, dig fingers at his eyes if he can, like he can tear them out, rip them to pieces like the lenses of a camera.]

[If he can't manage that, he'll try and settle for simply attempting to drive a fist into his solar plexus.]

[Jay hears the wet thud above his gut more than he feels it, and suddenly he's gasping for air, even as Alex Kralie chokes above him.]

[He remembers this. He remembers water pooling in his lungs, he remembers clawing for a handhold, for the shore, for anything until the world falls away from him with a stutter, leaving him wheezing with his face mashed into the cold, wet leaves.]

[There's pressure across his cheek, the hot sting of nails digging into the skin, peeling it away, and then it's running over the dark, hollow place under his eye, and then it]

[it presses down, claws into the whites of his eye, and the flesh gives way like a ripe peach. Heat wells up under his eyelid, runs down the edge of his cheek.]

[Jay Merrick lets go. Jay Merrick screws his eyelids shut, pulls away from the pain as best he can, still flat on his back, splayed across the steps of the movie theater.]

[Jay Merrick reaches for the camera, shoulder strap hanging loosely across his arm. He grips it, fingers sliding into a familiar unfamiliar place, the way they've always never done the only years of his life that mattered.]

[1D20 => 19]

[And Jay Merrick slams the camera full-force into the side of Alex Kralie's head.]

[This is easy. It's easy because he can just - rip at his eyes, at his face, tear away the stupid, solemn pleading way that he looked at him, holding a camera, zooming in like that would have any effect on an outcome. Just a speculator. A documentor. An observer.]

[Someone who dug up every skeleton in every closet, just because he could.]

[He feels his fingers pierce something soft and delicate. Tries to dig in, savagely, further, until he's abruptly interrupted - by the blunt traumatic force of something being driven against the side of his head.]

[Something shatters. The camera or his glasses, he can't say. Shards of glass drive into his face, slicing at his cheeks and his eyes, and he can't help the strangled cry that knocks him off his feet. It's too soon. It's too soon after he just died and he can't do this again except that he can because that's what he's always done - ]

[Unbalanced, he tries pawing the debris from his eyes.]

[Jay flinches back, reaching for the handrail. His vision is lopsided, one eyelid screwed shut from the agony, wet, thick something gumming it closed. The other is squinted open, barely, and he can't tell if his vision's blurring from the way the eye's watering, desperately trying to clear out whatever's stuck under the lid, or from something else.]

[The shape that used to be Alex Kralie pulls back with a sound that's nearly human.]

[The silhouette is too familiar, after years of spooling through old footage. Slim and loose and sharp, hunched and bruised and dull-eyed--he still carries himself the same way. He's the same. He's the same. He's the same, and what did you do to him?]

[It's in his eyes.]

[and he constantly made these awful, high pitched screams inches from my ear]

[His stomach lurches as he clutches the rail, bile burning his throat.]

[He grips the camera like it would make any difference, the plastic case shattered, bare circuitry hanging by loose wires. Somehow, the red light's still lit.]

[Jay stumbles backwards, back towards down, and down towards the door. He keeps his gutted camera trained on Alex Kralie.]

[There's a sound at the back of his throat, burning to a feverish pitch. One of his eyes his hot and sticky and coated in blood. The shards of foreign objects rammed into it. He squints through the veil of crimson that's fogging his remaining eye, blistering his vision over.]

[The little red light is lost in the wash of scarlet.]

[He doesn't care. The familiarity of the camera lens, that unblinking dark eye pointed at him, is too much for him to bear.]

[Alex surges to his feet, a fiery cocktail of adrenaline and blood and howling, and tries to plow into him.]

[Very suddenly, the shape is much closer. Jay stumbles, tries to press himself flat against the wall and out of the way.]

[D20 with disadvantage => min(6, 7) = 6]

[Alex barrels into him, shoving the shattered hunk of plastic and wires up against his chest with an ominous crunch of circuitry. The red light stutters and dies with a soft, electronic whistle.]

[The force sends them both down another flight of steps, and Jay's wrist strains to maintain its grip on the handrail, the metal digging into the small of his back.]

[They're only a few feet from the door.]

[It's dead.]

[Don't think about it.]

[It's dead it's dead it's dead fuck]

[He must look ghastly. He must look like something out of a nightmare. Redness running down his face, staining his shirtfront, leaking into his mouth and tinting his teeth pink when he bares them.]

[His head aches, ringing like a crash cymbal. The places where the fragments of glass and plastic have cut into his cheek, sliced parts of his skin to ribbons.]

[He can't fucking see. He's scrambling, casting about for the railing for support.]

You son of a bitch!

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

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oh COME ON DICE

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cw: EYE TRAUMA

cw: more of the same

cw: more of that, and cw: emetophobia

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cw: more eye trauma

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cw: blood, jay merrick dissociating to high heaven