[CLOSED] you better run, run, run, run, run

[normandysbest]

Who: Commander Shepard and Phillip
Where: The Ballroom
When: November 16th
Rating: PG - PG-13? For discussion topics and possibly some threatening.
Summary: It's been whispered among the Mansion for years- Don’t die five times. Don’t die on the Mirror Side. After months of digging, Shepard finally knows why- and she's going to find out if the legends are true.
The Story:

[To be completely honest, for once in her life, she was really, really hoping someone was lying.

When Alex told the network months ago that the Queen had admitted to having a mole amongst the Reals, someone working for her, Shepard wanted it to be fake. Something to get everyone to turn against each other. But she takes things like mind control and coercion very seriously, and the fact that Alex disappeared soon after- in an incredibly cryptic and still unknown manner- weighed too heavily on her to ignore it. So she wrote some scripts. Tinkered with the communicator, ran some filters, cleaned up files nearly 10 years old from the network boards. An old, old event. People from the future.

And that's where she found it. An old letter, encrypted and locked, that took her weeks to crack open.

The more you die the easier it is for her to take you.
She'll take you if you die. She made him into something wrong, like the clone, it's horrible.
The magic number's 5 for dying.
Watch out for the queen.

It didn't take her long to put the pieces together, to send a message confirming there's only one person in the mansion who's died five times. Someone she needs to have a word with.

She thinks about showing up in full combat gear and decides against it. The message was vague, and there's always a chance she's wrong. There's always a chance he knows something else, too. She's not gonna blow this open until she's certain others are in danger. So she dresses like she usually does- hoodie, her favorite hangout pants, boots. Keeps her pistol on her belt, like always, and jacks the shield protector from the top of her hard suit into the front of her shirt. Just in case.

She heads there as soon as the message is sent, knowing the ballroom's going to be empty, with little to hide either of them. No cover, but nowhere for him to go. So she heads across the room to the barren bar, takes a seat on a stool, and flips through the network while she waits.

This could either go really well, or really badly.

Once again, she's quietly praying she's wrong.]

Comments

[radiopalkiller]

[ Out of other people's way his frozen arse. He'll take requests for privacy or secrecy any day, but this? Half a weak stone's throw away from telling in to go into the forest with a blindfold, and wear a blinking bulls eye sweater. Here's the catch though: They've talked- what? A hot five minutes? And even with telepathy and the smelly witchcraft she didn't seem especially fazed by him then. So how come it feels like his chances of Bullet Between The Eyes just went up by 63% today?

--Tentatively he tries to tell himself that he's just being paranoid, but after six years of breezing right past any semblance of normalcy, well. Hope's not up too high. For the most part he doesn't take any extraordinary precautions, still. Revolver at his side, no more or less than usual. Room for a stick of dynamite on his belt, but that's for emergencies, the spiteful overkill ones at that. A slip of paper on his desk, You'll want to bring your complaints to that Shepard woman, in case I'm currently more dead than usual, just in case.

He lights a cigarette on the way, not for nerves or suspicion, just so that he's got at least watching smoke, to distract himself from the annoying feeling of having no clue what he's about to walk into. ]

That one might be running dry. Should've set this at the bar instead.

[ Philip looks around. At least there's almost something like novelty in the way his steps echo. He doesn't come here much, usually. ]

[normandysbest]

[She's thankful years of training are allowing her to concentrate on her mind, not her fear, when he arrives. Ironic she's here to have a talk with the one person in the mansion who can't actually speak, but here we are and here he is, so there's no backing up. Her eyes flick once-over- probably carrying a weapon. And if he is, he likely knows she is to.

Hopefully she won't have to shoot first.

But she smiles when he arrives, out of courtesy, and pockets her device.]

Yeah, it's a damn shame they don't keep this one stocked. Then again, it's not like it's hard to come by.

[She stretches her legs out and stands, pressing her hands into her jacket pockets.]

Sorry for messaging you out of the blue like this, but I've been looking into something for a while, and you've been here longer than just about anyone. Figured you'd know best.

[radiopalkiller]

[ --There's the odd, close enough to put a finger to it now. Because what she's saying- he gets that often enough. And usually it involves his notes, so, that's back to his place or the library. And there wasn't any call for that at all, was there? Nope, just freeform information about-- He'll know in a second. And sure, he's got his notebook tucked away with him too, but somehow it's not itching to make itself useful just yet. Philip doesn't think it will, either. He sucks in a breath of smoke. ]

Such as 'where's the exit'? The learning curve's a bit of a disappointment here, usually if you can't get your answers after a while then there's a good chance you can't get them at all. Might as well try me, though.

[normandysbest]

[She can't help but let out a bark of laughter at his response. It's kind of a shame she's having to shake him down like this- she appreciates the dry humor.]

Trust me, if I thought you knew a way out of here, I'd have just shown up at your door and pestered you until you said something.

[She thinks, for a second, on how to phrase this, and lets the pause sit for a few moments to indicate the change in topic. She doesn't want to outright accuse him, but there's probably no way around that. She's pretty sure she could catch him if he ran anyway, and there's a very limited amount of space in Wonderland he could even run, so... let's do this.

She takes her hands out of her pockets and folds them in front of her- guarded, but nothing in them. No fear to him of her pulling a weapon from her hoodie. Shows she's willing to talk.]

I've been doing some research in the last couple of months, about Wonderland deaths and their effect on people. One of the first things I was told when I got here was that death wasn't permanent, but there was a limit. After five deaths, something happens- but no one seems to know exactly what it is, and the consequences. Pretty recently, someone hit their fifth death and simply weren't revived. But I don't think that's the whole case.

[She pauses there for a moment, watches him to see if he'll squirm, and decides to lay her cards on the table.]

But there's a little more to that. Nobody could quite tell me why you shouldn't die five times. And I didn't think about it much until a few months ago, when a friend of mine spoke to the Queen of Hearts and she revealed there was someone giving her information from this side. A mole. And I found a post on the network archives, just about nine years old now, from an event. Where it seems the population at large figured out that if you die five times, you become loyal to the Queen. She doesn't remake you the same.

[Now she's looking at him rather intently, but not at all reaching for her weapon.]

To my understanding, you're the only one currently in Wonderland who's died five times.

[She shifts weight to her opposite hip, and raises her eyebrows. Spill it, buddy. This is your chance to play nice.]

[radiopalkiller]

[ He shakes the habit here and there, but sometimes there's still that little gasp, as if he's trying to get a word in, as if that was the way he needed to. Because death, whose death? Which of the people he pictured sent home got actually sent to Her, and refused to take the deal? And who the bloody hell would actually go through nine years of transmissions here?

--Though to be fair that's not quite the point that drags his attention away from the first thought on his mind. He arches his eyebrow right back, and takes a last drag of his cigarette, before he lets it drop to the floor. ]

So your next question, word for word, is going to be 'Since I would be utterly insane to put stock into the things people babble during events, let alone the ones that took place nearly a decade ago, would you please shed some light on what actually happens after you die a fifth time', right? Was that a good guess, because otherwise I'm honestly out of ideas as to where this is going.

[ Smoke curls around his feet. Philip snuffs out the last glow. ]

[normandysbest]

[Can't shirk those protagonists there, Phillip. There's always going to be someone nuts enough to do something like this.

In the meantime, she's searching his face for guilt. Fear. Anything that would betray him. She notes, for a moment, how the cigarette could be symbolic. But it'd be pretty ham-fisted symbolism if it was.]

Well, you're half right. I do want to know what happens after your fifth death. I also want to give you a chance to defend yourself. I wasn't just going to send everyone after you in a spectacular witch hunt without talking to you first.

[Just wants to make some things clear! But also, not gonna give him a chance to escape.]

I have as much reason to believe you as those posts, after all.

[radiopalkiller]

[ It's easy to shake guilt you don't feel. Philip remembers the announcement. Christ, Alex, you're an inconvenient friend to have. He remembers wondering, genuinely wondering, if it could be someone other than him. Someone in addition to him. Someone who'd do more than, well, check in about things She either already knows, or doesn't care to know. More than ask questions She doesn't bother to answer. And still...

Capable help, Alex said She called him. What's he got to show for that, other than a dog's leash, rolled up in his desk drawer, which he forgot when he cleaned the room, and couldn't bring himself to let go after? Capable help, and some use for him still, and that's all that's stopping him from rolling his eyes and walking away. ]

Defend myself how? Do I go 'No, actually, I'm not planning on betraying my friends to the Queen of Hearts' and you say 'Oh well, that's all right then, my bad, next round's on me'? Let's see--

[ He rubs his temple, paces. Just so, because how is he supposed to stand still now? ]

You had to have read about the other travellers from the future, right? The ones-- [ He mutters the count. One, two-- ] --three years ago? They came from the Wonderland's "future" just the same. Told us it was a wasteland. The residents gone, the Mirrors gone, no more working magic, just- an invincible Jabberwock, who swallowed up everything in its path. You- read that, right? You didn't skim the best bits? Because last time I checked the Jabberwock was dead, and Wonderland was still standing.

[normandysbest]

[She's mad, because he jokes and she can't help but feel her mouth tug into a smile. He speaks in a way that's familiar. It reminds her so much of her crew back home. But she can't afford the pleasantries, with so much on the line. Not for what this could mean for her.

She was always told, anyway, that Saren and Benezia were so, so charming.]

I have. But that was contingent on a certain force being stopped. There's plenty of ways a single decision could change a future's outcome. But this isn't about something like that. It's about a law of how this place works.

[She's not letting you off that easy, buddy boy.]

Besides, the event they're referring to in these is supposed to be five years in their future. We're way past that. Wonderland pulls people from slightly differing worlds all the time, or att different points in their lives. Besides, I'm more willing to bet this is real, considering it concerns an aspect of this place that hasn't changed much at all.

[Because from what she's gathered and seen on the network, the Queen's always been there. Except for that one part where Alice was running things. Now there's a dark timeline for you.]

[radiopalkiller]

[ He huffs. Now that is just-- ...actually probably not the most inane counter-argument, if he was absolutely forced to admit it. Then again, given that the accusation itself is gathering near a decade worth of dust he doesn't feel particularly charitable about his concessions.

Not the ones he can't use for an argument, anyway. Philip grimaces. What he is about to tell her-- What he is about to tell her he sometimes drops in conversation, without a second thought. It's not a wound anymore, and as far as scars goes he's grown quite attached to the look of it. But now he just wants to keep quiet out of spite. She might need you. Don't make yourself useless to Her. ]

Fair enough. You want to know what happened after I died. It's not my favourite subject, but I've never kept it a secret. After I died I ended up inside the Core- meaning it seemed like I ended up somewhere that looked like the Core, but I never had any way of telling if that was really the place, or what part of me was really there. [ A beat, to press past his reluctance to admit to Her involvement at all. ] The Queen of Hearts was there, she made me an offer. I could die and fuel Wonderland, or she could bring me back at a cost, well-- [ He motions down at himself. ] You can see the option I didn't pick.

[ He motions some silent appeasement, and reaches for his belt- the communication device on it. Philip dials a number, and lets it ring. The volume already up high as he does. Then, a click.

"Philip here. Leave a message after the tone," goes the sound of his voice, a small echo through the ballroom. It sounds much the same as it does when he lets it speak in people's heads. But at some point it was real. ]

My voice, that was the cost. So you're right, you don't come back the same. If it changed people for the worse, well, I reckon if she can take a voice, then she'd be able to take a conscience, somebody's compassion, whatever else they had that made them go through life without becoming a homicidal maniac. Me? After a few drinks I sometimes get miffed that I can't do karaoke anymore. I'm sorry, but that's about as exciting as it gets.

[normandysbest]

[She listens, trying to keep an air of politeness about it. Whether he's done something or not, this is his trauma- and she's keeping the hope in her mind that he's helping the Queen because he has to, or some form of brainwashing, or something that can be fixed, noticed, cured. It would be so much easier to blame all of this on the Queen. It would be so much nicer if she was wrong, but she's increasingly suspecting she isn't, and she can't tell if it's just her paranoia or the truth creeping through at the cracks of his story.]

I'm sorry that happened to you. And thank you for telling me.

[Because it's true. She's sorry. Nobody should know the sting of death, especially not waking up afterwards and not feeling quite like you own yourself anymore. But she has to be firm.]

What was she like? She always seems sickeningly sweet. You aren't worried she had some sort of influence on you? Take something else? It's pretty damn gracious to give you more chances.