HEARTGAME DRESS REHEARSAL

[finalbows]

thank u rah u hero

tracking sheet
 

[ ..somewhere in the pasture, Angel Devil falls down.
His clothes have twisted away into bone-white rags, leaving a body covered over with only thick swathes of red fur, and downy feathers. His long tail is curled into a tense arc, banded fur standing on end.

The air wavers like he’s a heat mirage, not a man. He’s boiling away with absolutely stupid amounts of arcane power… and, most frighteningly, he does not seem in control of the fact that it is there and being brought to bear. It’s impossible to get any closer to him.


When he speaks, it’s quite timid. ]

Ah,
I thought… I had a little more time.

[ (and in a blinding flash of light, there is the sound of something breaking.) ]

~KRRSHHK~

[any observers will see, strangely see-through and superimposed on the scene, some kind of vast tree, illusionary roots twisting over and around to frame a door.  the door itself is wrought of opaque stained glass in blacks and whites and greys; a stylized rendition of Angie in that strangely ragged, feathered form, curled in on himself, eyes closed.  Angie himself is nowhere to be seen. ]

instead, a shadow . . . steps into view from behind the door.  for a moment it looks like nothing so much as a second genome – then it turns, gaining features and definition with the movement.  The monkey tail separates into three plumes; a ponytail unfurls into wings that lift up from the sides of the head.  

Teleute(?) is here, dressed in her customary black, but there is colour in her skin, and her hair and eyes are blue.  she’s frowning.]

. . . well.  This is the least I can do before I go, in exchange for the safe harbor.

[she lifts her head, nodding to any observers, and gestures at the door.]

You’ll want to head in there now if you don’t wish to lose your flockmate, I think.  Even the false-death of this place won’t be much help to him, if his soul is left to finish pulling itself apart.

My sisters and I can maintain the way into and out of it for you, but we were not made to knit such wounds by ourselves.  Have a care.

Comments

[finalbows]

[ what do they say? "Face of an Angel, Mind of a Demon?"

the gate looks like this, ftr.

peering through the gaps between bars into the room beyond, there are two humanoid silhouettes wearing masks she can't quite make out the details yet. one of them is seated in a rather foreboding throne. the other is... messing with the seated figure, somehow. tying things to it?

and muttering to himself. the voice, at least, sounds masculine. and, if i'm being honest, gives off an aura of danger.

but hey what fucking doesn't ]

[wants_the_phd]

[She elects to keep to a shadow and watch for a while, to see if one or both of them leave. She really really really really doesn't want to have to fight if she can avoid it.]

1/2

[finalbows]

[ over the minutes of close scrutiny, the shades seem to... load in, almost. it isn't her eyes adjusting, but it is--

...why has she been using mana?
this fizzy feeling...
it's the one she only just learned to notice, and harness, the mark of herself doing magic...! ]

[ ...borrowing from the innate knowledge of magic that absolutely inundates Angie's soul,
Azdaja has cast Scan. ]

[ the results... ]

2/2

[finalbows]

[ the shade slumped unconscious in the chair is now obviously Angel Devil, face covered by a blue mask full of holes.

he's in a bad way. it's exactly as dire a situation as she knew in her gut.

the other one, in a horned, red mask, is a stranger to the pasture: a man dressed in a jester's motley.

after the Scan is done, his grumbling has abruptly gotten louder. ]



C'mon, c'mon, COME ONNNN, ALREADY! Wake up and smell the burning roses! You and I, So-Called Mister Angel, have so much MORE left to DESTROY! Don't MAKE me replace all your strings with barbed wire! Or would you like that too much? Huh?

[ he pokes him directly in the throat like, three times. ]

WaaAAAAke UP! Get up and dance, you stupid puppet!

[ ...he's been tying strings to the body. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[sweats]

[that guy doesn't look like he's going to be going away any time soon. And if he can't wake Angie up, what is she going to be able to do? and if she walks straight in there and gets her ass kicked, that's not going to help him OR her.]

[...]

[Okay. her plan is: she's going to leave the clown there to continue trying to rouse angie, and meanwhile she's going to backtrack back to the stage and see if she can find any surprise tools that will help us later.]

[finalbows]

[ solid plan. and good work, stealthing your way to the boss arena early!

retracing your footsteps while cycling through some new hiding spots, you find your way back near the stage easily.

before heading right out there, you take a look beyond the curtain...]

[ It's a full house out! Every single seat is occupied by strange objects that look a bit like a nautilus, that you instinctively recognize as-- caskets? beds? places of rest and preservation for dead souls.


They are all waiting for the hosts to put on a good show. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[...]

[She slips into the audience to check out the caskets.]

[finalbows]

[ a seamless meld of natural and intentional design, housing one single, perfectly preserved, departed life. all of who they are rests within the spiral of the shell. gooey threads attach it to the seat. occasionally, the threads undulate like an inching worm. who knows what THAT'S doing.


if she touches one, it feels like a crystal, in that it's either trying to commune with her or she's trying to commune with it, but... absolutely no information from or about either of them is able to pierce the safe, secure confines of its eternal prison.

it is a person. but it is as good as a mere display piece.
they are all people, in their neat little rows. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[There they are. The original Terrans. Sleeping painlessly in their eternal sleep.]

[They've slept this long. Maybe it's not so bad if they just sleep forever.]


[She walks through the aisle toward the back of a theater, looking for... a doorway, a stairway, some kind of passage to the rest of Angie's heart. This one theater can't be the whole thing. It may be messy, but he's way messier than even this.]

[finalbows]

[ > there has to be more than this.

is there?
is there, really?


your hand finds the handle of the door, but you realize your mask of cruelty feels, so, terribly, heavy. your head is forced to bow before the door.

it seems, to pass beyond these walls, you may have to doff that mask. perhaps it won't be impossible, to keep carrying it with you...
...but what worth is there in it? out there, exposed to the unknown, won't it just be holding you down? ]

[wants_the_phd]

[She still has no idea what this thing does...]

[She experimentally takes it off, to see if the room changes around her.]

[finalbows]

[ everything has gone eerily silent.

the sound of the stagehands still working behind the curtain-- gone.
the soft strains of piano that have accompanied her all through her journey into quetzalcoatl's heart-- gone.


but in their absence, they do leave room for one thing:

a distant roll of thunder, the promise of a soothing, oncoming rain. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[She really wishes she had absolutely any idea what was going on, but leaving her at a complete loss with no easy explanation seems completely in line with his personality. Angie, you bastard.]

[She attempts to pass through the door while holding the mask, but not wearing it.]

1/2

[finalbows]

[ sorry buddy. he IS the worst. as she drags herself and the mask past the threshold, Angie's disembodied voice abruptly calls out from the stage-- ]

"Wait! But the show hasn't even started yet--!"

[ but it's too late to change her mind.
the door to the theatre slams shut behind her, and won't budge. ]

[ well......
that, is a problem for later azdaja. ]

Re: 1/2

[wants_the_phd]

[SON of a BITCH]

2/2

[finalbows]

[ outside,
it's raining,
the world is green,
and even as it pours down,
enough to soak your clothes right through...

after having quit the scene of that mausoleum, there is something warm and hopeful blooming in your chest. rain is soothing. you know he loves the rain.

...the mask in your hands is still pretty heavy, but maybe there can be a solution for that? ]

[wants_the_phd]

[She looks around, swiftly getting soaked. She sniffs the rain-soaked air.

Is this the pasture? Is this Gaia?]

[finalbows]

[ Neither, truly, yet both. A patchwork, and one that she can identify each square of, merely by the sensation of her flock-born powers coming back and going away.

There's a whole world of potential in front of you.
...Which way first?
The meadow, where water is already pooling from the rain?
The haunted mansion, behind the wrought iron fence?
The church on a hill?
...the sunset coast? ]

[wants_the_phd]

[Yes.]

[Yes, she wants to visit all of these.]

[She doesn't know how much time she has here, so she's going to start with the place that seems most familiar: the haunted mansion.]

[finalbows]

[ every door in the way leading to Rose Barn falls obligingly open at your merest touch. you belong here. you are part of here. the red length of ribbon forever at your neck informs you: this is home.

what would you like to do, in this idealized, soul-deep version of Rose's private sanctum? change any part of it? use it as a chance to take a breather?

all doors that angie has ever been through in the barn are open to you, here. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[oh hell yeah]

[we goin directly into angie's room]

[finalbows]

[ that's private!!!!!!!!!!!

he is not here to say, because he is busy having a near-oblivion experience.
the zap-fence sigil on angie's door dissipates under her touch, no need to even hunt down his stupid bastard bloodstone key.

ANYWAY TIME TO DESCRIBE MY CHARACTER'S BEDROOM TO YOU IN LAVISH DETAIL
firstly, goddamn, look at that bed. there's more of those horrible gaudy pillows in here. he's definitely taken all the comfiest for himself.
there's a window by his bed, with the curtains parted. it's been pushed open just enough a lynx-songbird gryphon can fit inside. you can hear, see, smell the rain.

covering most of the floor he spends most of his time standing on there's a high-pile red rug with a pattern of one large red rose.

there are stacks, stacks of notebooks. books from the library, fiction, librettos, guide books to one particular Daffodil's homeworld. trinkets sequestered in pretty boxes, more hidden down in the drawers of a bureau. two pieces of Azdaja's same horn laying out on a doily, one keratin, one stone.

perfumes, cosmetics, tokens from others and tokens, taken from random places out and about just because. a green memory coin. his own memory coins, carefully tabulated in a handmade wooden container, all in their own lil slots with room for more.

surprisingly for the months he's been here, there's still a haybale in his room, set on its side to use as a seat. it's got some strands of angie's fur left on it. maybe he just got accustomed to it when there wasn't any better option...

also angie has a closet full of every cutely gaudy rose outfit she's ever seen him wear and more, his lovingly maintained slutty canon outfit, that dress she railed him in, and a few other special event clothes i'm too lazy to track down rn. boy this guy has a lot of high heeled boots.]

[wants_the_phd]

[Neat.

She's going directly for his notebooks, flipping through them to find his personnel dossiers. Surely he, too, has a Head Library™ containing all the things he knows. She always sees him taking notes in these books, so there is a nonzero chance this is where he keeps the information he's learned in the pasture.]

[She wants to know what HE knows about HER.]

1/2

[finalbows]

[ well, firstly, she finds many of these are written in Terran as a form of infosec,


which doesn't stop her in the slightest! because he literally beamed complete fluency in the language into her brain! womp womp for angie ]

2/3

[finalbows]

[ help me i want to answer this comment in full lush detail but i also want to finish doing this playtest. this is a placeholder to potentially edit more meat into later after i reread threads and percolate. hold me to this ]