entrancelogs | + FOURTH WALL EVENT: HOUSE PARTY +

+ FOURTH WALL EVENT: HOUSE PARTY +

Who: E V E R Y O N E
Where: Wonderland's Second Mansion, near the southern walls
When: Sept 1st to Sept 10th
Rating: G to PG-13 (please label higher ratings, thank you!)
Summary: It's a whole party mansion! Have a look inside, explore, make yourselves at home! And don't forget to have a look at the Fourth Wall Master Post for event rules, puzzle clues, and more places to mingle!
The Story:

Beginning on September 1st, something more than grass has suddenly grown near the southern walls. A second mansion has sprung up overnight! With only three floors and a strangely makeshift look about it it doesn't seem to compare to the original at first glance, but there's plenty enjoyment to be had inside!

The first floor houses a series of restaurants, diners, and coffee shops. No matter your style or intentions, this floor will find something to your taste! (Provided you, too, really love the colour red.) Of course all foods and services are free, and provided invisibly and without delay - no need to tip the unseen magical forces! ♥

The second floor is this mansion's beating heart - quite literally so! Disco beats shake this massive dancefloor 24/7, and the open bar provides party refreshments for responsible hydration and/or happy cocktail hour. Invisible DJ not playing your song? Man the turntables yourself, or sneak off into the karaoke corner! By the way, it doesn't take a keen observer to notice the common theme of this floor's design.

(Although it falls to the curious party guest to notice the peculiar paint splashes on one of the walls, and a little patience to stick around long enough for the travelling spotlights to reveal their message.)

Despite the busy party below, the third floor is surprisingly quiet, and pleasantly so. It invites crisp and clean comfort, be it to sit, to sleep, or to mingle in the comfy common rooms in front of their warm chimneys. From single bedrooms to large dormitories all guests have plenty of room to make use of fluffy pillows galore, be it to sleep on, to fight with, or to build.

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One the one hand, events usually lead to trauma and suffering and Wash has learnt not to trust them in any way. On the other hand, no-one has tried to kill him yet, and he hasn't tried to kill anyone and he and Carolina aren't on opposing sides of some bullshit war and he's still himself. He's counting that as a win.

And trying to ignore the niggling worry that maybe he isn't actually himself. Maybe he just thinks he's himself and really this is just another event trying to fuck with his head. It's uncomfortable. And that way lies a spiral of madness and it would be far too easy to plunge off the deep end with it.

Existential crises aside, he's curious about what's going on. Suddenly there's a whole lot more people hanging around, and a lot more to do. Staving off boredom takes precedence, and he explores as much as he can of each floor.

Don't count on no trauma just yet, Wash.

The third floor is quiet, thank god. Since finding himself here, it's felt like non-stop noise and over-stimulation, but here? Here he can actually hear himself think and it feels like there's some amount of separation between him and the weirdness going on. Not much, since the biggest part of the weird is just being in this so-called "Wonderland", but he figures this is probably the closest he'll get, so he'll take it.

Little does Wash expect to turn around and find himself facing... himself. And it's definitely no mirror, because he's fully armoured and the 'reflection' isn't. Then there's the other's babyface. Wash hasn't found that face looking back at him in years, so this is officially freaking him out a little bit. Wonderland, he can handle, but facing his past self? He's not so sure he's prepared for that.

"And just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder."

He's a little buzzed, a little flushed from the club area, and suddenly there's quiet and calm and oh that's nice. And there are bedrooms here so he doesn't even have to head back to the mansion. A change would be nice, and maybe being away from what's become normal would help some.

Of course Wonderland has different ideas.

He turns a corner and comes face to face with a very familiar set of armour.

He stares. That... that's almost his armour. Not quite, but so close that he wants to bolt back to his room to see that it's still there. Instead he draws his gun and while he doesn't aim it straight away, it's there, ready.

And then the person speaks. "The fuck...?"

In all honesty, he'd expect no less of a reaction from himself. ...Which is weird to think about, given that in this case, he's thinking of himself as a separate person. Still, Wash takes a half-step back the moment he sees a hand going for a weapon, raising one hand while the other hovers over his own pistol. It's instinct. Even when faced with himself, he's going to be ready to grab for his own gun when the person opposite pulls one out.

"Watch it," he warns, and fuck, yeah, this is really fucking weird. How... How are you supposed to deal with staring at a younger version of yourself? Or having to draw a gun on your younger self? Jesus Christ, being in Wonderland is one thing, but this really takes the damn cake for 'weirdest thing to happen today'.

"This is weird." Might as well address the truth of the situation right off the bat. "But there's no need to bring guns into it. I'm not going to do anything. I'm as confused about this as you are."

Like a warning like that has ever deterred him. He flicks off the safety, his finger on the trigger. His expression is hard and deeply wary. Wonderland has fucked him over before. He's going to be prepared for this.

"Weird's a nice way of saying it," he replies. "And I've got no fucking reason to trust someone I don't know." Someone who is impersonating him.

"No, you don't," he agrees, though the irony of the sentiment practically smacks him in the face. He knows who he's looking at, but the other has no idea. Even taking the deep paranoia out of the equation, he doubts he'd be recognized for who he is--they might be the same person, but they're so very different.

"And you don't have to trust me. I'm not asking you to." Wash continues and slowly, if a bit reluctantly, pulls his hand away from his sidearm to instead be raised in front of himself with the other. "All I'm asking is for you to put the gun away. I have no idea what happens when you get shot while visiting Wonderland, and I'd rather not find out."

Well, at least they agree on that. Wash has no reason to trust anyone right now. He isn't even sure that he trusts Carolina, not when his memories are so fucked up and she's so different to what he remembers.

He watches him warily as he leaves his sidearm and raises his hands, and it's only then that Wash slowly lowers his weapon and slides it into its holster. He keeps his hand on it though. He isn't stupid. "I imagine that it hurts like a bitch except if you die, you come back. Apparently." He hasn't cared to test it.

While he'd prefer hands were off weapons altogether, he'll take what he can get. At least the thing is holstered. Lowering his arms back to his sides, Wash stands straighter and considers the... other him... standing there. It's not like he hasn't dealt with seeing 'other versions' of himself before, but those have always been hallucinations or nightmares. This, unfortunately, bears a far too striking resemblance to reality for him to shake off as some new night terror.

"So you can accept Wonderland bringing people back from the dead, but you want to shoot yourself the moment you see him? --Me. ...You." He's trying to make a point here, but the absurdity of the situation makes it hard to not sound crazy. Or just stupid. Exhaling in something of a frustrated, perhaps slightly impatient huff, he waves it off. "You know what I mean. I know the armour is different, but it's pretty hard to mistake your own voice, isn't it?"

Yeah, no, his hand is not leaving his weapon until he knows what is going on. And once he knows that... well, it depends how he feels. And whether he gets a satisfactory explanation.

And the idea that this could be a version of him is, frankly, bullshit. He gives the other person a hard look, not at all impressed. Did this guy think he was stupid? "Voice modulator," he says bluntly. "A voice is easy to fake."

Was he always this stubborn? Jesus. ...Is he still this stubborn? --Not important. The sigh Wash breathes next is long-suffering and tired, but he nods. Sure, voice modulator could be a thing, so clearly the only way he's going to get this across and get out of this bizarre conversation is to show that he's not here just to pretend to be himself. Or whatever.

"Fine," he relents, hands going up to his helmet, he thumbs at the clasps and tugs it off to reveal his face. It's the same face, mostly, just... older and more tired after years of stress and hardly any sleep. Helmet shifted into one hand, he rests it under his arm and raises his eyebrows at... himself. "Convincing enough?" Or is he about to be attacked, because he's really... not in the mood for that.

Stubbornness is one of the things that got him into the Project in the first place which... okay, when he looks at it now, doesn't seem so good. But still... He isn't going to stop being a stubborn asshole now.

He watches as the man reaches up to unfasten the clasps of the helmet, and there's a hiss as the seals are broken. And then... oh then...

Wash gasps, can't stop it breaking out, when he sees the face. It's familiar, the one that he sees in the mirror every day. Except worse. He's never looked that exhausted, even here. He looks like he's been punched. A few new scars. Wash stares for a moment, stubborn to the end, and then forces a harsh little laugh. "You look like shit."

The gasp doesn't really shock him, or anything, and he just holds the stare as long as it lasts. So far, this is probably one of the better ways this could have gone, considering getting shot was probably still on the table. When the laugh comes though, his expression flattens.

"This is what you have to look forward to," he deadpans, tilting his head just slightly to one side. Tell him he looks like shit if you want, but it's your future that you're ultimately insulting here, kid. Still, Wash doesn't actually blame him for the reaction, and at least an attempt at humour is better than looking at him in horror, or something. "Enjoy what you have now, because it won't last long."

The laugh dies off the longer the other man... the other version of him, holds his gaze. He isn't lying. He looks like he's been through hell a few times. And it isn't something that Wash likes to think about. Not when he's barely slept in days, when the nightmares are getting worse, and when he sees flickers of electric blue out of the corners of his eyes.

"Or this could all be a hallucination or Wonderland fucking with my head again. It likes doing that. Because I am fine."

"Sure." Oh yeah, he remembers that. The denial. Wash nods slowly, in a way that makes it clear he doesn't actually believe what's being said. Obviously he knows that desperation to believe anything but the idea that he's not okay, and obviously he can empathize. However, he also knows that he's not fooling anyone, and that the longer he waits to break, the worse the fallout is going to be.

"You came from... where? Looking at you, I'd have to guess pretty quickly after Epsilon. Right?" Like he even has to ask, with those dark circles under his eyes but no sign of any further damage outside just yet. "I'm not going to argue about whether or not you're fine. You don't have to believe I'm real if you want to be that obstinate about it. But look, I'm alive. Assuming that I'm not some Wonderland-induced hallucination, that means you're still going to be alive, and you'll be fine." Or, what passes for fine right now. Still closer to real fine than younger him is. "Take that as you will."

It's... kind of funny, standing here, talking to himself. Telling himself the kinds of things he wouldn't have minded hearing years ago. It might not be the greatest reassurance ever, or may not seem like it now, but there had been so many times in the past that he'd been sure he was going to die, or that things were never going to get any better... Seeing that at some point in the future, he's doing okay? That might have helped. This version of himself standing there hasn't even been through the worst parts yet, so... who knows, maybe this'll help. Maybe it won't. But he's not going to stand in front of his past self and be a dick about his denial.

He scowls. He knows when he's being condescended to. He also knows when he is being condescending, and he can't believe he's in a position where he is suffering through both of those at once! This is bullshit.

His unease only grows when the other him pinpoints pretty much exactly what he last remembers. No-one should know about that, except Carolina, possibly York. No-one who was here anyway. "You don't look fine," Wash replies, rather than agreeing with his assessment. Carolina had said that too, that he would survive, that he'd be fine. He didn't believe her either. And the other him looks awful.

He folds his arms over his chest, still looking at him and trying to work out what he should feel. He should punch him. He should walk away. He should do about a million things and he can't figure out which one is the right one.

"I remember the alarms going off," he finally concedes though. "And North running out of the med wing." And leaving him alone.

No, he doesn't look fine. That's because it's taken a long time and surviving a lot of shit to get to somewhere that's actually okay. Wash isn't sure of how much to divulge, though. He doesn't want to go into detail because that will only freak him out, but he also doesn't want to give some bullshit lie that things aren't going to be so bad.

"Right. Because Tex came back for--" For Alpha. But he thinks better of saying that. "...Because Tex broke back in. North and South leave to stop her, and I-- and you're left alone." Little does he know that he'll be left alone a lot longer than he probably realizes. Jesus, that's a shit place to leave things. Running a hand through his hair, Wash glances off to the side and shakes his head.

"...What do you think is going to happen?" He asks after a moment, eyes flitting back to the face he remembers looking in the mirror at years ago. The question is genuine--he's curious. ...And hoping that there aren't many high hopes. "Whenever you get back, what are you expecting to return to?"

That is far less information than he wants. Or more information depending on how he feels during any given second. He isn't sure he wants to know, but Carolina had told him enough to pique his curiosity.

"Yeah, 'cause they ripped Epsilon out of my head." And that hurts with a raw ache he isn't sure how to describe. He'd wanted Epsilon. He'd wanted an AI so badly and then... He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, fioghting down a wave of memory and pain so sharp it burns.

He glances back at his double, jaw set in a stubborn line. He doesn't know how he can be so calm about this. "Carolina said that the war ended. So fuck knows."

Truth be told, he's not all that sure how he's managing to be so calm about this either. Maybe he's tired enough that being in Wonderland is enough weirdness that he can handle seeing a younger him, who knows? He sure doesn't.

Even he practically winces when he hears the thing with Epsilon put so bluntly by a version of himself so fresh after the incident. If he thinks it's bad now... he's in for a pretty shitty surprise within the foreseeable future. Stifling a sigh, Wash nods, rubbing a hand along his jaw slowly.

"Yeah, it did." He replies after a moment. Did he really expect to go back and resume fighting aliens like nothing happened? No consequences from Epsilon? He can remember being stupidly naive about the Project and believing the best in it, but after Epsilon, he couldn't have assumed that it would continue, right? "Things are pretty unpredictable after that." Not that they'd ever been terribly predictable to start with, but. It gets worse, for sure.

How else should he put it? He knows what they did. He knows they left Epsilon in for long enough to hurt, and then tore him out and left him unconscious and suffering. There's no gentle way to explain that and if he goes into details he doesn't think he'll be able to stop.

"I bet they are," he says, a sour note to his voice. He has to think that's what he's going to do. He doesn't know how to do anything else and he doesn't want to admit that anything is wrong. "We never did any good."

"No, we didn't." He agrees with that much, obviously, and he knows damn well how hard it was to have to come to the conclusion. There's a breath of a laugh, humourless and weak as Wash shakes his head. "You don't even know the half of it yet."

He's... not actually trying to be cryptic, but he also doesn't want to discourage himself, this younger him, any more than that with the full truth.

"But it's more complicated than just that. It's..." Trailing off, he frowns, trying to decide how to word it. It's complicated, but he's already said that. How the hell else do you elaborate on the mess that's been his life without giving away many of the painful details? "...It's not just the consequences of Freelancer, but the aftermath. It's the fallout and your own mistakes and... And things I'm not even sure how to explain without getting long-winded."

It hurts to have that confirmed by more than his own thoughts. They'd never done any good. Their entire purpose had been a lie and- he stops and narrows his eyes at the other him. Does he really sound like that? That laugh was anything but happy, like broken metal.

"My mistakes? I haven't done anything! The only mistake I made was trusting them in the first place." But what the hell choice had he had?

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+ FOURTH WALL EVENT: HOUSE PARTY +

Agent Washington | Red vs Blue

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just... pretend we use the same pb...

Totally the same PB

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