entrancelogs | [Open] Nothing to see here...

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[Open] Nothing to see here...

Who: Simon Lauchlan (??? Maybe?) and YOU
Where: Out in the woods or otherwise lurking around the grounds of Wonderland
When: During the event
Rating: warnings for potential grossness and mentions of violence.
Summary: For some people, the bad end isn't the 'what if'.
The Story:

When morning dawns, Simon isn't anywhere to be found in the manor, not in any of his usual haunts. He doesn't show up at the gym or at the bar, and there's no familiar figure in neon taking a morning jog anywhere.

Instead, he's hidden himself deep in the woods, as close as he can get to Wonderland's border without being turned back, inhabiting a shelter built out of what supplies he could scavenge for himself, since he refuses to go anywhere near the mansion at the center of this place and avoids most of the people that inhabit it.

Those that do know him are going to find very little familiar in the figure, except for a few lingering habits and mannerisms. His clothes seem to fit him a little strangely and every inch of him is covered, hidden away, for more reasons than just the winter chill descending on Wonderland. His face is covered by a mask, enough to hide his entire face but nothing that muffles his ability to speak around it. For as long as he's been in Wonderland, it's been a staple for him, or so he thinks. As far as he remembers, he's never had a face for people here to see. Another conspicuous difference is the loss of his left hand. It's a stump now, wrapped with bandages and his sleeve tucked around it to keep from swinging loose, the arm ending a little past his elbow.

He avoids any casual passerbys, but he's easy enough to find if people are specifically searching him out. Not that he expects them to. As a hermit, he remembers keeping mostly to himself since arriving here in Wonderland so many months ago. It's safer for everyone else that way, after all.

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Despite the fact that Jo has spent most of her nights sleeping on a cot in the back room of Fort-Dixon Potter for as long as she can remember, it's rare for her to go deeper into the woods without cause. There's no substantial wildlife to hunt, and heading out to gather firewood isn't as necessary as it was back home even as it gets colder, not when the closets are so willing to provide Wonderland's captive residents with whatever they need. She'd been wary at first, uncertain about trusting anything that came so easily, but if the closets were good enough for her to use to stock the bar, they were good enough for just about everything else.

It's the strange absence of any sign of Simon throughout the day that sends her looking, shotgun in hand as she heads deeper into the trees. He'd been missing from the bar and gym alike, as well as every other common area, and anyone she asked about him-- well, they hadn't seen him, either. The woods were the only place left to search aside from the caverns, and while she couldn't imagine any reason he'd ventured into either, she was worried enough that an investigation seemed necessary.

She lost people at home almost every damn week because they got stupid and wandered too far from camp without proper protection. Here, there was no telling what could happen; Wonderland was unpredictable at best and malicious at worst, and she lets her gut instinct lead her further into the woods-- though it's not too far from the bunker that she finds signs of life.

"Don't remember there being a shelter out here," she remarks under her breath, frowning as she advances, hefting her gun chest-high-- just in case.

He's been living out here long enough that he can often hear someone approaching, no matter how stealthy they're trying to be. His shack might be missing his first line of zombie defenses here like he installed back home, but he's still got the placer surrounded with traps, snares and warning alarms just in case.

Old habits, by now.

The forests here are always silent, very little of what wildlife exists here venturing this deep in. And he very rarely gets visitors out here - most people in Wonderland don't even know he's here as a matter of fact, a fact that he prefers, despite the amount of time he spends watching them. Which is probably creepy, but he gets bored easily and there's not a lot else for him to do in this place. It's why he knows who most of the people are, despite the fact that he's never revealed himself to about 90% of them.

There are a few though, a rare few, who know he's here. That he allows to come and go as they will, although saying he 'trusts' them - or anyone - is stretching things beyond any believing. But he gives them the benefit of the doubt first rather than attacking or vanishing entirely.

One such exception is the blond currently trying to sneak up on his shack, despite the fact that she should know she's - more or less - welcome here. He watches her from his perch in a tree overhead, casually munching on slices of one of the apples he'd stolen early that morning from the orchard. He watches curiously, wondering what she's up to, before finally calling out a warning.

"I wouldn't make that next step if I were you. You'd be in for a nasty surprise."

She freezes midstep, lowering her gun no more than an inch as she searches for the source of the voice-- unmistakably his, which in itself is a relief, though the warning doesn't quite make sense. Not out here-- for the most part, Wonderland's woods were tame.

"Simon? What are you doing out here?" she demands, halfway to exasperated although the sound of his voice is enough to ease her worry. It's another moment before she spots him, perched overhead, and for a split second she feels her chest tighten-- all she sees is the mask.

Her last encounter with a man in a mask hadn't exactly been pleasant. She'd loved that one, too, at a time when she was a little more willing to give her heart freely, when there had been more of it left. She swallows hard, setting her jaw as she glares, on edge.

"Not funny. I've been looking for you all day."

Simon tilts his head to the side slightly, considering her for a moment before abruptly dropping down out of the tree to land a few feet away, cautious and wary. He was still on alert, looking he might bolt and vanish again at any moment, but for now he stood, and waited.

"Why?" There's a note of suspicion in his voice when he asks that, because being looked for rarely means anything good anymore. He doesn't want to be looked for. People who look for him rarely have pleasant intentions.

"Why didn't you look here? Where else would I be?"

"Why?" She scowls faintly, making the scar above her left eye more noticeable. "Because you haven't been anywhere you're supposed to be. Why would I look here? I thought you'd be helping out in the bar," she informs him, though her argument wavers as she gets a better look at him now that he's dropped down. She can't see anything beyond the mask other than a familiar mop of blonde hair, but her gaze falls to his arm and she feels something catch in her throat.

Most of the time, it was easier to pretend she was looking for him for entirely practical reasons rather than the fact that she worried or that she missed him, but now the emotion that flickers across her face is raw and real, as openly concerned as she is puzzled before she quickly hides it all away behind a stone-faced grimace again half a moment later.

"Si-- what happened to your arm?"

"I've never been in the bar."

He knows there is one, knows she runs it, but that's in far too deep and high for him to venture. Too many people. Too long to get back outside. Too dangerous to risk.

He glances down when she questions about his arm, not really certain he's following this conversation like he should be. There's certainly nothing new for her to be asking about and he wonders for a moment if she's trying to joke. He's usually the one with the morbid sense of humor. Which is why he plays along, lifting his shoulder in a shrug as he gives a low laugh, something raw in the sound as he tries to cover up his confusion.

"Garbage disposal, remember?" But as he moves closer, his gaze narrows behind his mask as he gets a better look at her. And isn't sure what to think about what he sees. "What happened to your face?"

Those are... old. Old scars, long healed but never fully. That... that didn't make sense. He'd guess that maybe she'd gotten sent home, but he knows that's not really possible. Not after what she'd told him of her home. It was something they'd bonded over, something he could sympathize with. He was happy she'd been spared the agony of being torn apart, at least.

Edited 2015-11-27 16:09 (UTC)

"You've been helping me run the damn bar for the last year and a half," Jo insists, frowning as she finds it difficult to tear her gaze from his arm-- once she does, it's only to let it rest on his mask, wondering, now, what he might be hiding behind it.

Garbage disposal. Yeah, right. She doesn't have a better answer, but she feels her stomach churn all the same, tying itself in knots. This isn't the same Simon she woke up next to the day before. How could so much have changed?

Wonderland.

She pauses, ghosting a finger across the scar above her eye, tracing it by memory. "If you mean these, I've always had them. You know that story." Job gone wrong. The creature responsible hadn't made it out alive. "I could ask you the same damn thing."

Things aren't making sense and he's starting to wonder if maybe what's left of his sanity, his memory, really is slipping.

"I don't know," he answers after a moment, and there's uncertainty in his voice, like he's not sure if he's questioning her or himself. "I've never seen you with scars on your face before. I would remember that. And I've never been in the bar, Jo. It's too high. Too far. You know I don't go in the house unless I have to."

He'd made an exception, once. She'd needed him, and he'd gone, because there'd been a demon hunting her and even as skilled at she was at keeping herself safe, she was still mortal. There were some things not even she could do.

"Something's wrong." Maybe that's stating the obvious but suddenly things are making less sense than usual.

Too high. Too far. The words don't make any sense to her; Simon has never been shy of people, never avoided any public place within the mansion, and yet here he was, acting as though he'd never go beyond the foyer if he could help it.

"You're right, something is--"

She cuts herself off as she catches herself looking at the remains of his arm again, feeling something heavy beginning to form in the pit of her stomach as she looks back to his mask, imagines what must be under there. It's been a long time since she'd talked to Sam about Simon's future, months and months and she'd done everything she could to try and put it out of her mind, put it out of Simon's mind, and she swallows hard as it all comes flooding back to her, her expression as steely and unflinching as ever.

It hadn't been long enough since she'd last seen him for him to have gone home and come back. This had to be something else-- an event, temporary, but it was a ghastly look at a future that she'd never wanted him to have to see firsthand.

Shit.

"Simon." She frowns, her gun lowered fully now. "You're not yourself. I don't know when it happened, it must have been overnight, but you-- this isn't really you. It's Wonderland. It has to be."

Because he can't have gone back home to that awful future. He can't.

His head cocks to the side as he studies her for a moment, expression hidden behind the mask, but there's still something uneasy an a hint wary in his posture - not of her, never that, but he doesn't like the confusion. The not knowing what's going on. It meant there were pieces missing, and that always put him on edge.

"I'm still me," he answers instead, shaking his head. "I'm always me, Jo. Not even Wonderland changes that."

"You're Simon, but not the Simon I woke up next to yesterday."

That Simon had been whole; he'd been far less wary, less suspicious. That Simon only knew about this from rough description, had sworn that he would do whatever it took to stay in Wonderland to keep this from happening, to keep himself from ever going further down the road he'd already chosen for himself back home. She frowns, watching him, feeling a knot in her gut as his very posture unnerves her, though she refuses to let it show.

"This-- it hadn't happened to you yet. It's not supposed to happen ever. I promised you it wouldn't."

That gives him pause, because that doesn't make any sense. None of it. A, he definitely would have remembered any scenario that had him waking up next to her, because that's never been a thing, he's pretty certain of that. He might let himself want every now and then, but he knows - he's always known - that there's not enough left of him to offer anyone, let alone her.

And B, she 's always known him this way. he was this way when he first arrived here, all those months ago now. She'd never known the person he'd once been. That had made it easier, sometimes.

"You can't make promises like that, Jo. You don't have any control over that."

It's not the answer he intends to give, but it buys him a few more moments to puzzle through what her words mean.

"I've always been this way, ever since I first came to Wonderland. I've lived out here. The house... I can't... It's not..." He stops, looks away, fumbling over the words that never come easily for him anymore. Maybe because he rarely has a need to use them these days. "I don't know what Simon you remember, but it's different. I'm different. I'm not him."

And he doesn't know what to think about that either.

It's not a promise anyone can make, and yet if there were a way for her to find a way to keep it, she would have done so. Keeping her eyes and ears open for any way that might be even remotely possible had been a way of life for longer than she could remember now. She hadn't been met with success, not yet, and maybe she never would be-- but now, seeing this version of Simon standing in front of her, a Simon who didn't remember anything about their life together-- it reminds her exactly of why it had been so damn important to her, even if it was unlikely.

There were some things that nobody should ever have to go back to. Even if he hadn't gone home, even if this was something else, she never would have wanted him to experience this, even knowing what he'd done before coming to Wonderland. She'd wanted to protect him from this, if she could, but of course she couldn't. In the long run, she couldn't protect anyone from anything.

"It hasn't always been this way."

She's been here long enough, at least, to catch on fast, to know what has to be happening here.

"I didn't imagine the last year, and if you'd been out here, like this-- I would have known. Ask anyone. They'll remember the same things I do. That you live in the mansion, you joke and pour drinks and you kept me from going off the deep end more than a couple of times. Wonderland did this."

"I did this," he insists, and there's a sharp note of jagged temper in his voice as he jabs a finger downwards, something volatile and bitter in his tone, even though he makes no move to come closer to her.

"I didn't imagine this last year either. What makes you think it's my memories that are the wrong ones? Why not yours? Why not everyone's? Maybe it's all you lot in there that've finally gone crazy. I don't know what you remember, but any jokes I make are for the trees. And I can't keep anyone from going off the deep end when I'm already off it. Misery loves company and all that, right? The more the merrier, especially in this place."

Even if that's not true. And that one time.... No. Maybe she doesn't remember that either. probably better that way. it doesn't matter that he'd risked more than he'd thought he had left in him to try and save her, and he'd failed that too.

"Because there are some things that can't be faked, no matter how powerful this place is."

Like the racing of her heart in her chest, the unpleasant twist of her stomach as she finds herself forced to look at this grim, grim representation of Simon's future. She'd known what would happen to him, and yet seeing it for herself was something else entirely.

"Maybe my memories aren't what they should be, maybe something's changed, but we can't all be wrong. It would take more fingers than I've got to count all the people who've asked me where you are, or how you're doing-- today alone. Why would Wonderland change everyone's memories but yours? And if your memories are the right ones, if this is really you-- then why are my things in your room? I don't live there, but I'm there enough, and I'm never there alone."

"I don't.... have a room," he states, but he sounds less certain about it this time, as if he's not sure what's real and what's not. It's not a feeling he particularly likes, and for the first time he takes an uncertain step backwards, the instinctive need to run creeping up on him, the default reaction he normally has most days.

"There's people looking for me?" He doesn't sound as if he knows what to think of that either. That normally means very bad things where he's concerned.

She nods, confirming.

"Friends," she explains, "People who are used to seeing you every day. You get around. Kind of makes it extra obvious that you're gone." At least, that was how it seemed to her. Were the circumstances different, that statement might have gotten a little half-smile out of her, but instead she remains stiff, stone-faced.

"You really don't remember-- me?"

Aside from his actual fate, somehow, that's the worst of it. He doesn't remember; and as a result she can do nothing for him. There's no trust, no way to offer comfort or a reassurance that this can't be permanent-- though reassurances had always been more his department. She'd run out of anything resembling optimism long before she'd ever come here. The end of the world did that to people: sucked them dry, left them empty shells of who they'd once been.

He's not sure what sounds more outlandish - that she remembers Wonderland differently than he does, or that she thinks he'd be able to make friends here. Did she count? Even he wasn't sure.

Her question has him hesitating, because he doesn't know what she knows, what she doesn't, and how it matches up with the memories he has. Unsure what he could accidentally give away that he probably shouldn't.

"I remember you," he answers after a moment. "You come out here a lot. You bring food, or drinks, or just come to talk. You have since you first figured out I was out here."

Evening, 11/21

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11/22

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