entrancelogs | [OPEN] "These shallow waters never met what I needed. I'm letting go; a deeper dive."

[After the last of his visitors has come and gone and Ford is winding down for the evening, he'll feel it: the familiar sensation of not quite being alone.

Perhaps it was due to the recent connection they shared, or maybe after all this time Ford has just come to expect it; whatever the reason, Bill's presence weighs heavily in the enclosed space, had been, in fact, for the better part of the day.

Silent and unseen, yet ever so much there, the dream demon watches Ford from the shadows; the ambient light crackle of static on the researcher's communicator the only indicator of something being amiss.]

[Ford is still exhausted, still under the influence of painkillers, and absolutely burned out from all the unexpected visits. His mind is in far better shape than it was on Neverland--there are no Shadows whispering ugly things in his ears or magnifying his impulses--but the fog of fatigue and the pills on his nightstand are weighing him down considerably.

Still...

He's a genius. His mind will always tick away relentlessly, and here in the silence of his bedroom after he's locked his door, washed up, become frustrated that he keeps trying to do things with the right hand he no longer has, calmed down, and settled into bed... he's noticing an uncomfortable presence. He tried to ignore it the entire day, but he knew it was there.

Ford's remaining limbs are so weary, he can't even lift a book to read it with the intention of relaxing before a hopefully restful sleep. He lies on his back, upper half propped up by a wall of pillows, pajamas unbuttoned to give Mikan, Alphys and Fiddleford easy access to the bandaged stump. With his last bit of energy, he removes his glasses, puts them on the nightstand, and draws the static communicator into his lap as his eyelids slide shut.

He is still conscious, but sliding slowly into the shallow waters of early sleep. Part of him tries to fight that descent, knowing full well what's waiting for him on the other side, however, his body is aching for more rest. The more he fights the need for it, the more it overtakes him. The heaviness of his body and his clouded mental state are almost worse than the presence lurking in his room.

... Almost.

He is still conscious, but barely. The veil between the waking world and the Mindscape flutters like a curtain caught in a breeze.]

I'm surprised you waited this long.

[His heartrate jumps and skips as he tries to keep his breathing level despite the stress Bill's presence puts him under. Ford is under the influence of medication, but he's certainly not being mentally and emotionally pulled apart like he'd been on the island. Next to the communicator, he balls his fist in the duvet.]

[The Mindscape appears as dark as Ford's shut eyes leave his perspective of the bedroom. When he comes to, fully integrated into sleep's grasp, he won't be seeing much of anything at all. Like something from their battles in the nightmare realm, the author will find himself drifting through the uneven gaps of dimensional space, glow and shadow scrambled throughout in small nonsensical bursts.

Only it isn't as bright or colorful as Bill typically preferred his living quarters.
For once, it seems, the party's over. Lights out.

Bill's form lies obscured, perfectly blended with the darkness apart from a gold gleam line of a familiar sclera. Judging on the size of the eye, Bill must be closer to a more planetary scale, the newly opened massive optic fixates on Ford.

In Ford's lap, the audio transfers over the communicator; both in dream and reality.]

"YOU SHOULD BE SURPRISED I CAME AT ALL."

[What use did he have for Ford now that he has gotten what he wanted? The mortal sure thought highly of himself if he thought Bill would bother sticking around with such little benefit waiting!

..And yet here he is.]

[Ford is still aware of lying in his bed, half sitting up and comfortably propped in the pillows. He moves in and out of consciousness fluidly because he has no energy to fight it. All he can do is try to stay awake; not fully immersed in unconsciousness.

In the dream, Ford gazes up at the titanic eye. He could easily be swallowed through the pupil and into deeper darkness--he tries not to think about that. He knows Bill wants him to feel insignificant and helpless.

The demon is doing a very good job of it.

Fortunately, exhaustion and those damn pills are taking the edge off Ford's fear. His senses have been woefully dulled, but in doing so they've offered unexpected help.]

But you're here. [he says, in both dream and reality.] What do you want?

[Begrudgingly, he adds:] I know you would've mined my head for everything you wanted back home. It's useless here and you won't be able to take it with you if you ever leave.

[But he is still disgusted with himself over this.]

What more could you want from me? Do you want to gloat? Is that it? Just get it over with.

[Ford wants to anger him, but Bill is too prepared for that. The voices in Neverland made his position and the severity of the problem quite clear already. If he managed to keep his calm in a state of pure exhaustion and agony, Ford wasn’t about to draw it out of him now.]

“Hey, judging by THAT greeting YOU were expecting ME. Maybe I could just TELL I was on your MIND…”

[You were thinking about him weren’t you? How could you not be? The calm façade drops.]

“BUT IF YOU INSIST! They say MISERY LOVES COMPANY and boy am I GREAT at MAKING PEOPLE MISERABLE!”

[Why, an actual invite to gloat?! Stanford, you shouldn’t have~]

“I saw some of the CONCEPTS for your new arm. Couldn’t help but NOTICE how many DIGITS were on those SCHEMATICS.”

[His ‘grin’ turns even cheekier.]

“DEEP DOWN I always KNEW you liked being a FREAK!”

[Ford has always known he's a freak, genetically speaking, and he has long been accustomed to being seen as one.

But... it still stings more than Ford will ever admit.]

I find the thought of lying about my DNA to be a pointless exercise. Not that I want you to like me, but I was under the impression you liked freaks, considering you're one too.

Maybe I'll reread one of my favorite novels and psychoanalyze you for a change. Did you always have only two equal sides or was that a more recent cosmetic improvement?

[He's weak and at a disadvantage but if the gloves must come off, then off they'll go.]

[Bill snaps a bit too quickly.]

"-I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THE ANGLE OF MY VERTICES WERE DECLARED NEAR PERFECTION- but JOKES ON YOU- the MEASUREMENTS of SIDES are MEANINGLESS WHEN VIEWED from a MULTI-DIMENSIONAL PERSPECTIVE. FREAK'S A BETTER COMPLIMENT ANY DAY!!"

[Eat your heart out Edwin Abbot; Bill makes a mental note to burn all of those infernal books.]

"But alright- IX-NAY the EAK-FRAY WORD. YEESH. All these YEARS and that BUTTON still WORKS."

[He adjusts his disheveled bowtie.]

"Don't try and change it around IQ. You kept your SIX FINGERS because you ENJOY the thought of BEING SPECIAL. Why hide it now?"

[... Hit a nerve there, did he? Ford grins. ~~He wishes he didn't get a thrill from talks like this, but here they are, bantering like old enemies. It's disgusting.~~]

I'm not special? Could've fooled me. And you did! But I survived. Seeking significance in existence as an anomaly is something I've come to terms with. Once you said to me, things change. I suppose you were right.

So. I'm going to ask you again: What do you want from me? Even if there was a slim chance I wanted to be a puppet again--and there isn't, by the way--I doubt you'd just float around only to talk to me--

Edited 2016-11-15 04:14 (UTC)

... [something occurs to Ford--something dreadful.]

Oh my God. Were you checking on me?

"WHa—"

”NO!”

[UGHH what a HIDEOUS NOTION. He wasn’t--]

[Was he…? The deal entailed he would make sure Ford didn’t die- was it still in effect?
No. That’s stupid. Stanford is just stupid. THIS WHOLE THING IS JUST]

[Bill laughs. It sounds forced.]
“H-HOHH YEAH, I’m checking on ya all right! CHECKING HOW MUCH BRAIN DAMAGE YOU ACCUMULATED—QUITE A LOT, APPARENTLY, if THIS is what you come up with!

Or maybe I was CHECKING if anyone was SLANDERING my NAME.”

[Fiddleford was sure to blab about SOMETHING.]

[Ford shudders involuntarily, not commenting on the fact that the thought he just had is making his skin positively crawl--he won't give Bill the satisfaction.]

I highly doubt anyone would accuse you of being rational or sane. You are every bit the chaotic monster as you were when we first met.

[The surrounding darkness in the dream very briefly flickers into that old mindscape, like the dark, distorted memory it is.]

I threw almost forty years of my life away on you and now that I'm no longer any use to you, maybe I'll retire, open a bookshop, and try not to have a heart attack in thirty years. [He doesn't bother trying to keep the spite out of his sarcasm, because FUCK YOU, Bill. Fuck. You.]

Who knows? Maybe I'll get in the habit of having nice dreams.

[You're darn right, he's still a chaotic monster-]

"AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!!"

[Bill snaps his fingers and solidifies the change, the old 'blueprint' backdrop of their former escapades taking up residence in the previously undefined shadows. Unfortunately, the thrill went both ways. Bill really should leave well enough alone and just bask in his superiority instead of trying to explain himself to lesser creatures; the fact he acted outside of the petty realm of logic and rationality is reason enough no mortal would ever understand his whims.]

"YEAH, YOU GO and OPEN that BOOKSHOP- you can STOCK it with nothing but COPIES of your AUTOBIOGRAPHY TITLED: 'How me and my SIX FINGERS GAVE UP and NOTHING MATTERS!' I'll even do you a SOLID and not BURN IT DOWN a couple HUNDRED TIMES!"

[Well. That insulting scenario did not cut as deeply as he'd hoped, and sure enough, it's turned back on Ford. He slips deeper into the dream and further away from consciousness.

Ford bristles at the scenery change and at Bill's words. His fists clench and suddenly in the dream, he's standing--as far as one can "stand" in an ephemeral plane like this--and he shouts, screams at the top of his lungs--]

BITE YOUR NONEXISTENT TONGUE!! I HAVEN'T GIVEN UP AND I NEVER WILL!

[Ahhh, yes, there it is, that seething hate. It's such a great motivator but terrible for clouding one's judgment.]

I'd kill you over and over and OVER if that's what it took!

[Hate is also very energy-consuming and emotionally corrosive. Ford doesn't have the strength to sustain real anger like this, and in the real world he's breathing hard. (His lungs were never really that great on their own.) He can only be so defiant for so long until the feeling of helplessness creeps back in like living fear coiling its vines around his body and mind. In the dream, he doubles over to catch his breath and he curls his left hand into a fist in his hair.]

Don't you dare take my flippancy for honesty! I'd do anything to erase you from existence, don't you EVER forget that!!

"OH I WON'T-"

[That's more like it. THAT's Stanford Pines. The man was nothing without his defiance and seething hatred; were Ford to truly lose those things maybe Bill would leave. But that would be a moot point. The person left behind wouldn't be Ford.]

"FOR A MINUTE, IT SEEMED LIKE YOU DID; GLAD WE'RE ON THE SAME PAGE!"

[The blueprint backdrop begins to come to life, literal equations and scribbles popping off the ground and walls to block Stanford's path. Best get some air back in those lungs old man, you're going to need it.]

"SO NEXT TIME your PUNY MORTAL BRAIN can't FATHOM my CHOICES, just remember I DO WHAT[One equation flies past Ford.] I WANT! WHEN [two more set him as their target] I WANT, HOW [Ten at once and the swipe of his colossal arm to knock the man back] I WANT!!"

[And it's up to YOU to stop him. That's how the game is played, no calling it quits early like you did with the Portal project, pal! Bill impassively waits for the dust to clear to see if Ford is still standing.]

"TILL the END OF TIME, Fordsy. We're not even close."

[So cut the pity party and don't make this any more complicated than it already is.]

[As soon as Ford looks up, numbers are coming at him. Ford tries to rise, but his vague awareness of consciousness betrays him and his legs-- his legs just won't move.

He covers his ears, ringing with Bill's lecture, and he ducks aside away from the first line of numbers-- then the others, aimed directly at him--

--Then ten. He can't dodge ten like this. Too late, his legs agree to start working again just for him to be knocked around by massive calculations. He falls back onto the 'floor', just in time to see the black wall of Bill's arm coming for him. Ford can do nothing but brace himself, arms in front of him defensively.

It hits.

Bill flings him back and unfortunately, he knows exactly what that feels like. He does his best to tuck and roll to try and soften the impact. He's winded, aching, and he could stay down-- he probably should--but he won't.

Ford clutches at his throat, smelling the singed flesh, feeling those damned shackles tug at his extremities. It is an inescapable memory that still haunts him and overtakes his senses in moments like these, making him feel cut off from escape, enclosed, trapped.

It also hardens him--he can't let this keep him down, he refuses.

Gradually, Ford climbs to his feet. He stands confidently but inside he feels like a dried, brittle leaf this close to crumbling apart.

He cranes his neck to stare Bill down anyway.]

Edited 2016-11-28 03:58 (UTC)

[The familiar pain and fear over that particular Weirdmageddon memory they both shared does not escape Bill's notice. It tinges the memory like blood spilling into the water adding an even greater overtone of danger; a knife thrown between two unarmed men.]

"NOTHING ELSE TO SAY?"

[Despite this, the ease of the situation temporarily alleviates some of Bill's rage. Things are back to how they should be: Ford, defiant, engaged in their battle and He towering high above him hopelessly out of his league. Overhead, the remaining equations circle like vultures.]

"Then I'LL CHOOSE a TOPIC, SHALL I? HERE's a PUZZLE for you, SCIENCE-MAN. WHAT WOULD you have DONE if I DIDN’T SHOW UP? HUH? WOULD that REST you so DESPERATELY claim you need have COME so EASY? Or... would it have EATEN away at YOU? Left you SUSPICIOUS? WOE IS ME! Not even my GREAT NEMESIS views me as a THREAT ANYMORE!"

[He laughs.]

"You ACT LIKE my INFLUENCE is what first TANKED your LIFE. But before me, you were STUCK! All that POTENTIAL and NO WHERE to GO WITH IT after YEARS of RESEARCH. STANFORD PINES the GENIUS who BLEW IT."

[Here's the monologue again, with the massive monstrosity looming over Ford like some kind of inescapable truth; saying things like how Ford needed him, implying he still does. It all makes his blood boil, it's nothing but lies. He could have been great, he could have gone on to do amazing things without Bill.

But could you really? That parallel version of you got his start from the portal still. Where would you be without the infinite assistance of this well-dressed nightmare?

For all of Ford's defiance, Bill is beginning to sound like the Stan twins' father, and it's getting to him. He looks down at his hands yet again--twelve fingers that could have held so much more in their grasp.]

[Where would he be--]

[--if he'd just paid attention to the signs, to his friend--]

[--if he'd listened to anyone but Bill--]

[He told Fiddleford he wouldn't have to live through Wonderland alone. Could it be he wouldn't have had to live so long in isolation either?

Is he alone here?]

[OPEN] "These shallow waters never met what I needed. I'm letting go; a deeper dive."

(OPEN) VISITATION HOURS

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1/4 dear god this is beautiful

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9/9 :D DONE

Hot DAMN Ford

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