[Event!]

[vitaelamorte]

Who: Everyone!
Where: Dream bubbles
When: 9/15-9/16
Rating: PG
Summary: Everyone is stuck with their memories. And some other people.
The Story:
This log's pretty straightforward. There is one thread per group for the first day or two of the event, before people are able to leave their initial dream bubble groupings. ♥ If you have any questions, grab a mod on AIM.

EDIT: The mods have decided to let everyone continue with phase two of the event in this one log, since there's overlap between being stuck in the bubbles and moving between them.

So if you're posting to a group thread that isn't your initial group, just your thread with what day of the event it takes place on so people will know it's not from the first day or so.

Comments

Sherlock Holes : The Roof of St. Barts

[not_a_hero]

He needed more time.

With more time, surely he could figure out the answer, a way out, something less permanent than a long fall into a padded lorry.

The wind rustled through his coat, the slight sense of vertigo catching him as he looked down at the traffic bellow, the staged transients, the perfectly placed elements of his last resort.

Sherlock did not want to die. Not really and not faked. Even faked was too real. Fake dead still meant real dead to everyone he cared about. It still meant goodbye.

Seconds ticking down; no time for regrets and fears. Answers, solutions--they were the only things that could save him now. Three gunmen? Something Jim might have said. A word or code. Music? Was there time to warn them; Mycroft could perhaps take measures to secure their well-being. They'd be prisoners for life until Sherlock found the key. There lives would hang in the balance simply because Sherlock did not want to end his own.

Death of a fake or martyred angel--it took the same plunge off the cement lip of the roof. It looked the same, felt the same, hurt the same and all the mattered was he was dead and they were not.

No time, so little time, nothing left and so much in the balance.

Sherlock looked over the edge again, mind swimming, breath panting past his lips with his pulse racing in anxiety. No choice; one choice.

He just needed more time.

[insidethechimney]

They'd later squabble, with varying levels of intensity, about whose idea it was to re-cover all the books in Twilight's library. But for the time being Pinkie was happily slipping How Many Times Can a Zombie Explode? into a cover for the Illustrated Adventures of Mare Do Well. She put it back on the shelf, then picked up another leaf of paper. What should the next fake book be? Maybe something about that dashing do-gooder, Mare Do Well!

...huh. She looked at the shelf, where the title on the last book she'd covered seemed to blur. She must be working too hard; it was time for a break.

"Dashie, I'm going out for lemonade!" Or maybe cherryade. Cherrylemonade? Why wasn't that a thing? The question was so perplexing that she didn't notice the buildings growing taller, their colours fading, until the floor turned a grey horribly reminiscent of home. Confused, she looked side to side, down and finally up, where she spotted her favourite vampire on top of some dreary looking building. She guessed it was fairly odd, but Pinkie was good at handling odd and even better at seeing opportunities for fun.

"Are you bungee jumping? I'll join you!"

[not_a_hero]

Sherlock shocked still in surprise, looking back at her.

Event. Not real. Just an event.

Somehow he felt stupid for getting so caught up in it all. Nothing was worse than being fooled by ones one mind.

Sherlock let out his breath, trying to calm himself as he stepped back from the edge. "No, not bungee jumping. It's not safe; you should stay back."

[insidethechimney]

The reasonable thing to do here would be find out what he was doing there if it wasn't safe, but reasonable was slow, boring, and the distance between them wasn't great for a chat. So she zipped up a handy side staircase that might or might not have been intended to exist - though the duck egg shade of paint was a point against its reality - and came up to the roof to meet him.

"What are you doing here? Where are we? They should get some pegasi for this place; the sky really shouldn't be that grey."

[not_a_hero]

Sherlock chuckled lightly. If ever there was something to break the tension of his roof, it was the pink pony.

He forced a smile as he hopped back down to the roof, walking towards her. "London is always grey. I rather like it this way. How is it you came to be here?"

There was no point in telling the childlike girl that this was the place where he came to 'die'.

[insidethechimney]

Definitely no point - especially since at first he'd be fighting through her still firm belief that he was undead. Could the undead die? In his case, as far as she's aware, only though gorging on garlic bread. And this is no pizzeria.

"Really?" She can't help not being entirely at ease surrounded by all these sharp lines and dull shades, not to mention the weird noises. "I just left the library to get some soda and Ponyville left me somewhere along the way."

She trotted around the roof, getting a better view of this London and musing on how even human place names were weird.

[not_a_hero]

"Ponyville?" Sherlock's brow raised with that as he shoves his hands in his coat pockets and followed. "Rainbows and blue skies and fluffy white clouds is it?"

[insidethechimney]

"And a bakery that looks like a gingerbread house topped with a cupcake." She span around. "Hey, maybe I can take you there! Can vampires eat cakes? I get an employee slash practically family discount!"

[not_a_hero]

Sherlock will never correct the vampire assumption. Never. He just flips the collar up on his coat instead.

"I can eat cakes though I'm not certain those made for horses are really edible by human standards. Or a vampires. Unless you'd like to prove me wrong."