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

[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 ]

3/3

[finalbows]

[ did you know he has rough notes speculating on your sleep schedule, and they're not all that off the mark?

...that he has a dumb series of doodles of him pushing you into a mud puddle, only for you to find a snail in it and start making googly eyes at it?

did you know he has little drawings of your fully dragon body, hidden away in here? some sketches with especial detail of the way your jaw can unfold?

did you know he has an inked diagram of a labor caste zmeu's anatomy, with little red circles drawn in various spots with question marks beside them?

he's written down speculations, summaries on the dreams he reasonably believes the two of you have shared. a glaring question, underlined at the end of a recent one:
how long until someone notices a chip has lived too long?



...there are seven pages of him workshopping the fucking torture sonnet. ]

[wants_the_phd]

[okay, some of this is,

unnerving,

but also not that far off from what she expected. also she continues to be touched by that exquisitely crafted torture threat, truly one of the finest ones she's received.]

[Now that she's gotten to the section on her, she slows down her furious page-turning, paying closer attention.]

[What does he know about Pulmungt? Specifically, crimes.]

[finalbows]

murder: fine
cannibalism: part of a well-balanced diet
sex: ALSO part of a well-balanced diet???
magic: illegal, you die. """not real""". emperor does miracles, not you schlubs
sedition: illegal you die
defying class standards: death probably
deviation from assigned humanoid form: death
deviation, deformity, physical: culling
no little chippy thing: illegal you die?
HOPES AND DREAMS: illegal you die I don't think they can persecute you for thoughtcrimes quite yet because I know how she is under there

1/2

[wants_the_phd]

[She's grabbing whatever writing implements she can find on his desk and making some gentle revisions. It would be too obvious if she just struck it out completely, so:

magic: fine, but the knowledge of everything except basic human shape has been lost to time.

...Oh yeah and

sex: important for good mental and physical health

she'll give him that one for free.]

[wants_the_phd]

[she's sorely tempted to fill in the rest of the zmeu anatomical details like it's a fun quiz on the backside of a cereal box but he's making her work for the crystal stuff, so she'll let him have something to work on, too. Because she's thoughtful like that.]

[she puts the notebooks carefully back where she found them.]

[Important question: is azdaja wearing her messenger bag right now?]

[finalbows]

[ does azdaja personally feel like it is an integral part of her mental character design for herself?*


if so, yes, absolutely.
if not, angie does have that cute rose clutch purse.


_{*yes this does mean she could also have the machete} ]