entrancelogs | 'Tis rather inconvenient like this. +

Entry tags:

'Tis rather inconvenient like this. +

Who: You! !oot ,uoy dnA
Where: Wonderland, both Real and Mirror side
When: June 3 to June 10
Rating: PG-13, will vary by thread, warnings for higher ratings appreciated
Summary: A catch-all log for Mirrors and Reals during the reverse espionage event. Anything from Mirrors leading their daily lives, over Reals reacting to the show, to Reals and Mirrors exchanging messages goes here. Just label your locations and sides accordingly!
The Story:

Your own medicine is worth twice the sweetness in the bush, that is what they say! Here is my plan, now make sure you listen well, or you get it wrong, and then I would need to pair you all up, for only two even wrongs set my head back on right, and we've no time for such things, no time at all, do we?

As mighty as the sharpest blade, as stout as the hardest shield, a spool of thread woven from hearts of gold. It must exist, and I must have it! She'll do worse to my head if I search, but you'll help, won't you? I will let you see, and you will be my eyes! All good things come tomorrow - then I'll let you see, and you'll be my eyes, and when it's all done you'll use your own mouths to tell my personal ears all you know, won't you?

All of Wonderland's mirrors are suddenly working in reverse. The Real side can see everything, and the Mirror side is left with nothing but their own reflections. Details of the event can be found here.

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[ Like. Maker. Not like, dread. Is this the moment for such honesty? With her? ]

He told me he was what I would become. I would like him to be wrong.

[ He would like many things that are not and will never be true. He is afraid of the chance that this could be one of them. He swallows. She isn't wrong. But does that make her a future, or another life entirely? ]

Robyn. Is that better?

[ She considers it, watching the letters on the glass form and vanish, turning the name he offers over in her mind like something fragile. ]

Yes. [ Though, she doesn't feel particularly attached to that, either. 'Robyn' isn't hers. She has little that is her own. ] Thank you.

[ He seems polite, at least, unlike... most others. ]

I've never spoken with one of you before. [ The Mirror admits aloud. ] Why would you bother speaking with me?

I heard you speak the Chant.

[ That is the simple part of it. That he heard it, and knew how to respond, a little unlike now. He recognised her face, too, if only barely. That was another part. Less why, more why now: ]

I've never seen any of you before. I know very little about your side. Is it true that you won't disappear again, like the other events?

I've spoken it before. [ Or, she's tried. ] No one listens. They don't speak the Chant here.

[ If they do, it's news to her. ]

You spoke to your own Mirror. [ She points out. ] You must have seen him.

[ Seen his eyes, his twisted smile. He's terrifying, a monstrous thing to be avoided. ]

We aren't events. [ The Mirror mutters, clearly cross with the question he's asked. ] We live here just as you live there.

[ He remembers the verse they left off on, and wonders if he should add another. For her. ]

Do you know of the chapel on the tenth floor? We speak it there. It is on our side, but you could be nearer to it.

[ It becomes more trying, the longer you have to say it all alone. He remembers that, too. ]

I only met him today. I didn't know there were more of us. [ Forgive me, he should have written first, he thinks. ] Forgive me.

[ More people. Yet more worlds, more possibilities. More of Wonderland's prisoners, and it keeps them separated. ]

Is there a way to get to you?

[ He debates wantonly smashing the glass to see if it has any effect, but that doesn't seem like the best plan A, after all. ]

[ The more they talk, the more suspicious she seems. The more on-edge. Why does he care? What does he want? ]

We have no chapel. [ Do they? She isn't sure. Most days she passes through like a faint breeze, having no effect, affected by nothing. ] Even if I were close, I... I've forgotten most of it.

[ There isn't anyone to remind her. No one cares. There is no Maker. ]

"More of us?" "More of you." [ She corrects, almost stern. They aren't the Mirrors and the Mirrors aren't the Reals. They are "they" and not "us." ] I hope you don't speak with him again. [ There's a pause, and then she's compelled to add: ] I'm sorry. It's only that-- He frightens me.

[ She doubts she's the only one, either. ]

Get to me? [ To us? She swallows, thinks of what the proper protocol is, here, with a Real who doesn't know. Her instinct isn't to lie, and she's curious what he would do on their side. After all, if he were here, his Mirror would be there, would be gone. And... the Real Cullen seems kind.

Why does he care? ]

Why? [ She asks slowly, watching her own reflection as if it were his own face. ]

I can help you with some of the verses. There is a copy of the Chant in the library, as well. [ I can bring it to you, he almost writes, but he could see her suspicion before. She might not appreciate the offer. ] You can find one on your side, surely.

[ In the closets, no less. He's no friend of them, either, but they've had no ill effects so far. And if they'd provide her with the words of the Chant... ]

More people in Wonderland than I could see on this side, [ he clarifies, because he- doesn't actually know what to make of her correction. Nor entirely of her fear, even if 'I hope so as well' is muttered quite readily regardless. He doesn't write it down, however. ]

I don't look like him. I haven't taken the red lyrium [ A pause. The next word hurts to write. ] yet.

[ Is that even what she meant? She seemed concerned. He wonders what else he could explain. ]

I only ask, because we should be able to see each other. At the same time. If Wonderland has a reason to keep us separated, then we should find a way to come together.

Maybe. [ Does she even want to? Sometimes it lures her more than others, verses and memories that aren't hers, sweet and comforting. Sometimes... she thinks of them and is angry, bitter, withdraws even farther into herself. ] I can look.

[ She might as well, given there hasn't been much to do lately, or... generally, since her creation. ]

We aren't of Wonderland in the same way that you are. [ She explains, almost petulantly. ] We are here because you are. Some don't even consider us to be people.

[ Just shadows of lives that aren't their own. ]

Will you? [ She questions, of Cullen and his experience with the infectious lyrium. ] What would cause you to take it, knowing what's become of him?

[ The more pressing thing for Robyn's Mirror, though, is Cullen perhaps trying to see her. Is someone from their side having any desire at all to not only speak with her, but to be in her presence, even though he can see her. See what she is.

Robyn's Mirror hesitates, looking now more troubled than suspicious. ]

There is a way, but you won't find the rabbit hole. [ She whispers, wondering if she'll be punished for any of this. ] I could come through, but... I shouldn't. I can't, not without Her permission.

[ He doesn't think she looks happy about the idea. Anything about the idea, but he can't be sure. Perhaps she will, and she'll find it. Perhaps comfort from it, as well. There's nothing more to push here, one way or another.

There's much to frown about, however. Two questions, one his, one hers. He can combine them, he thinks. ]

He said I would. He said he was my future. Is that what you are, living prophecies?

[ He gets hung up on that, but the rest of her words aren't entirely lost on him. Most he mulls over, for later, but there is another thing- important, it must be. ]

Tell me about [ Write it as she did? Better to make himself understood, perhaps. ] Her.

Impossible. I'm only a vision from her-- [ But, that word could get confusing, given the rest of the talk about the Queen, so she speaks the name of her Real, albeit with distaste: ] From Robyn's past. I'm what might have happened, not what will happen. She's got no future, anyhow.

[ Moving right along: ]

About the Queen of Hearts? [ The Mirror questions lightly. ] She created us. She is beautiful and terrible and very, very powerful. She rewards her loyal soldiers and punishes the bad ones. They have marks...

[ No, Robyn's Mirror isn't about to divulge any secrets to Cullen. She's a good Mirror, she thinks, and won't let him talk her into getting into trouble. ]

[ Might is nightmare enough, after those red eyes stared right at him, but might is what he already knew. Some templars in Kirkwall got their hands on it, fell to it, even under his command. Might was always too close for comfort. Only will is worse. He'd rather will wasn't. He'd rather-

He'd rather grasp what he can use. What she says about- a queen, and hasn't he heard her name in passing before? Only then she seemed meaningless. Now she sounds like the very enemy they've been looking for this whole time.

Created, she says, and Cullen needs to believe that it is only a figure of speech. Loyal. Bad. So which one is this Robyn. Which one is she forced to be? ]

Do you need help?

[ Only one question, simple. And Cullen will never hear its answer. ]

[ Because the mirror shatters right in front of Robyn's eyes, shards falling to the ground at her feet, along with the dagger which shattered them. From an unseen corner the Knight-Commander struts into view, free and unobserved by the other side now. ]

--Ah. On second thought, that was a mistake. A little too soon, just a little. I'm curious, what were you about to answer?

[ The shattered mirror and the dagger that broke it together nearly scare her out of her wits. She shrieks sharply, jumping, pressing her back against the wall in an effort to be seen less, to be less. ]

They can't help us. [ She mutters, almost inaudible. It doesn't matter what she tells him, she knows, because he isn't here to listen to her. ] You know that.

[ Or does he? How deluded and backwards is Cullen's Mirror? Robyn's peers warily at him, never sure what to expect from the Mirrors in general, but particularly from some of the more... outgoing. They don't usually converse with her anyway, so this is a new and unpleasant moment. ]

We were speaking. [ She speaks up, a little insistent. ] You spoiled it.

Spoiled it. You're the blighted rat, but I spoiled it. [ Funny. He advances on her. ]

The Maker can't help you either, and yet you keep fumbling for words to say to him, so tell me, what were you about to answer?

[ He cocks his head. ]

Were you hoping he'd try? That he'd come and make you remember more of the words? I would be- I would be glad to help you with that, as well. Bodies so maimed and distorted that none should see them and know them for men... but that wasn't where you left off, was it?

Of course. You're-- [ She bites hard at her lower lip and it goes nearly as white as her face rather than the tainted black. ] ... You're nearly a massive piece of jewelry. At least I know what I am.

[ Maybe he does, too, but they clearly have different attitudes about their respective states of decay. ]

You've no business knowing what I was going to say or reciting those words. [ Any of them. Particularly not when he's twisting them into daggers aimed to her skin. ] Where's your red master? I thought by now the lyrium would have crossed over and you'd be literally inseparable.

[ She's being much, much more mouthy to him than usual and it's sending off all kinds of warning bells and flight responses in her brain. Still, she'd been... nearly enjoying her short conversation before he'd arrived. It isn't fair. None of it. ]

You know nothing of what I am, let alone who I serve, [ he growls, but from his spark of irritation flares excitement, bared teeth turning into an easy grin. The song, the song, it would show her what it can do, what his Master Corypheus has chosen him to become. But then what? Mottled flesh and rotten bones, snapped and gone, just as his entertainment. He groans when that comes to him. ]

I made a mistake, [ he chides himself. ] I interfered, I was wrong, you- you two, fun, to watch. Not so much to speak to, by myself.

[ He bites his lip, thinking ]

Which are you, loyal soldier? Or bad soldier? --If you had to pick, of course you're- you're not much of anything at all. But you know that, Lady Cousland.

[ Cullen laughs. ]

[ Ugh. She has no love for herself, but he's somehow more disgusting, a raving double positively vibrating with pent-up energy in a limited world.

It explains much of the rampant debauchery. ]

I don't care to know anything about you. [ She mutters, avoiding his gaze. ] Next time I'm having a conversation, maybe you'll back off, then. Have your fun watching and don't cut in next time.

[ Yes, next time, because she intends now to speak again with his Real if only to spite him. ]

Loyal, of course. [ She can't do much, but she always comes when the Queen calls. ] And don't call me that.

[ 'Lady Cousland.' He will anyway, like one much more vicious child taunting another. ]

None of us are much of anything. You're as flimsy as I am. Though he's louder and loves playing his role more than most of the others. Leave me alone.

[ The Knight-Commander paces in front of her. His heels all but dig groves into the floor, a caged restlessness waiting to tear at her throat, if it weren't for the bars. If it weren't for the fact that they are demanded to stay alive, all of them. What an irritation. What is she, if not cannon fodder? What is she at all, if not the cut and discarded waste of something better? ]

You would believe that as well? You'd like that, wouldn't you, if this world kept you? If you didn't have to go back to rot, one day?

"As well?" As if all the others, including our queen, are wrong? [ She sneers at him despite the fear thrumming her heart like a rabbit's. ] I don't have to like it one way or another. We do not go anywhere when the others vanish. This is our entire world, you must know that, addled though you are.

[ "Rot." Yes, of course she's rotting, she's the definition of it. The taint scratches within her veins, the music is sometimes too loud to ignore. Even so, she thinks he's just as badly off, considering the red, vile and dire, poison enough to match her own. ]

Have you really nothing better to do than to pick fights with me? I would think you would be above such pettiness, Knight-Commander.

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'Tis rather inconvenient like this. +

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two for-

-the price of one

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