Slj 1 10

Peter|GM: Long ago the snow started falling and still hasn't stopped. Long ago, someone said "Let's call this December 1st."
Peter|GM: Let's call this… December… 2nd.
Peter|GM: A hallway of stinking trash leading out of this world, out of Silvergrand Theatre. The vault door at the end is still ajar.
Mischa makes a dash for it before it closes, counting her luck that this door, at least, wasn’t even locked. How often does that happen.
Peter|GM: A short diagonal ladder-climb leads out onto an island, baking in a ceaseless, unrelenting sun. It sits upon an ocean of fluorescent violet ooze, stretching away from its shores in all directions. It is made up of junk - not merely garbage, but discards and folderol and ruin. A marble statue of a discus-thrower sits vigilant over the escape hatch.
Peter|GM: (…There's noises of the others in various directions, right now. By a strange twist of fate, we won't be bumping into them just yet.)
Mischa stays stock still at the top of the ladder for a moment, fighting a sudden sense of vertigo. She’s been is plenty of places she wasn’t supposed to be in, but not quite this…. not supposed to be in. Also, the sea is not usually purple, she’s pretty sure.
Peter|GM: The sea is usually grey and gently chopped by the wind. It does not froth like an oil-slick, nor steam at the empty horizon. Overhead, a seagull too enormous to be real circles and cries.
Mischa: “Oh man. Oh man oh man oh man.”
Mischa climbs the rest of the way up though, and hops out onto solid ground. Of course. What else? She starts walking in a random direction, eyes like saucers and head swiveling in an attempt to take in everything at once,
Peter|GM: This is absolutely a strange magical world. And, cutting off the trail - you can see that its rocky shore is compressed blocks of plastic, and its sodden soil is occasionally set with great big sink-holes, flowing with draining water down into some darkness below.
Peter|GM: The ground underneath Mischa's feet shifts, after she hops down one ledge. There is an unpleasant noise, a gluuuup.
Mischa scrambles back, picturing herself being swallowed by one of said sinkholes and not liking the image one bit.
Peter|GM: And indeed, one of the sinkholes gnaws itself open with a grotesque sigh, shredded plastic and damp paper pointing down into some eerie subterrane, growing large as she scrambles back away from it.
Peter|GM: As light lances down into the underground, it becomes obvious how hollow this island truly is. Swiss cheese.
Mischa risks creeping up to the edge peer down. Swiss cheese tunnels, maybe? Or is she better off staying above ground where there are probably things like oxygen?
Peter|GM: Tunnels. Tunnels with mushrooms that glow like neon-signs jutting in shelves of discs out of the walls. You could descend…
Peter|GM: Very carefully…
Mischa descends. Very carefully!
Peter|GM: There's a sort of steep slope you can manage downwards - down into the cavern. Around the edge of the massive sinkhole going all the way to foaming ooze below is an opening to a deeper passage. Carved into it is - something like concrete stairs, beneath a dozen layers of chewing gum and trampled wrappers.
Peter|GM: In fact, judging from the design of the railing, it's…
Peter|GM: Like it's from one of Juliet's subways.
Mischa trails her fingers thoughtfully over the railing, then makes up her mind to take the stairs down, keeping one hand on the familiar railing like a lifeline to the real world.
Peter|GM: There is a face in the right wall. A child's doodle of one, bulbous white eyes and a leering smile set into a green sphere, buried into the strata. When it blinks, its eyes become happily curved eyes. It is positioned haphazardly, as if caught in a collapse, just jutting out by happenstance.
Peter|GM: Whatever it belongs to is alive.
Mischa starts, jumping back by instinct, then steels herself and peers more closely at the face. “H-hello?” She asks in a very small voice. Maybe whoever it is needs help! But that doesn’t mean she isn’t a little afraid.
Peter|GM: It blinks again. It begins oscillating, wildly, chipping away fragments of dried styrofoam from the wall, before it pulls itself free - a gangly, frog-like creature with a simplified round head, and extremely wide=fingered legs. It's a bright green, a smoky light flowing around inside of i -
Peter|GM: A section of its head, the top-left corner, vanishes and begins buzzing and chirping, replacing itself with an inverse-color mould of itself, rapidly vibrating between that shape and being a corner of the subway stairs instead.
Peter|GM: For a moment I thought it was a Fosco, but this is actually a -Corrupt- Fosco.
Mischa runs. In whatever direction will get her away from that things as quickly as possible. Down? Down. Maybe.
Peter|GM: It follows, limping after, its steps doing a poor job of lining up with the staircase. The ceiling above Mischa starts to shudder, and sticky green fingers prod and pull themselves out - there's MORE! And -
Peter|GM: And there is a voice.
Peter|GM: "STOP."
Peter|GM: Everything stops.
Peter|GM: A chain laden through bells burns and seethes through the ceiling-crust while the Corrupt Foscoes hold, motionless.
Peter|GM: There is the voice again: "Grab on."
Peter|GM: And again: "Sorry."
Mischa grabs on… to the chain? It burned the frog things, but she thinks that’s what the voice meant. Maybe it won’t burn her too.
Peter|GM: A tug on the chain tests the load, and then, once you're well and anchored on, it pulls you up through -
Peter|GM: Oh. Wow. This is just -
Peter|GM: This is awful. Let's just skip over all of that.
Peter|GM: - So anyway, the chain hauling you up through, uh, the junk (Uggh, it's…) -
Peter|GM: And pulls you up, up, up, through a hole in the sky, into darkness.
Peter|GM: The sound of bells.
Peter|GM: It's a crushed velvet black kind of darkness.
Peter|GM: A single eye opens in the darkness. Another. There's someone else there, holding the chain, imperceptible and invisible. She jingles when she moves - her spiny wings blot out a fractured starlight.
Peter|GM: "I am an angel. That was a divine intervention. Those are monsters."
Mischa gulps and then nods as if she understands. Which of course she doesn’t.
Peter|GM: "Let's start from the top," says the angel. "…You met all those other dorks, right…? That happened."
Mischa: “…you mean the guy who asked me what day it was?” She suddenly remembers the half-eaten muffin in her hand and hides it guiltily behind her back.
Peter|GM: "Sounds like a dork to me. They're…" A pause. More eyes open up, identical, covering the inner surface of a sphere of night surrounding you. One by one. Geodesically.
Peter|GM: "You've started to notice this is a weird city."
Mischa: “It’s full of people. People are weird.” There’s a note of affection in her voice.
Mischa: “…or did you mean this one made of trash? Because that’s definitely weird. I don’t think I could’ve gotten here without those guys.”
Mischa: Gratitude? Yeah, that’s what it is.
Peter|GM: "They're both weird," admits the angel.
Peter|GM: "This is a Sealed Space. A world in a bottle. Juliet's full of them."
Mischa: “…but is it still Juliet?”
Peter|GM: "It's Juliet, and it's a shadow of Juliet." Eyes open and eyes open. "It's a part of Juliet that has to exist, but that Juliet wants to forget."
Mischa nods, finally starting to understand. People have all kinds of things they want to forget. That’s mostly why locked doors exist.
Mischa: “Can I ask why you saved me, though? I mean, I didn’t necessarily think it would be monsters, but I sort of knew something like this would happen someday. Doors are mostly locked for a reason.”
Peter|GM: "Didn't seem fair not to."
Peter|GM: "Everybody else got chosen. Had the heavenly light shine down upon them, reveal the broken ways of the world to them. Filled them full of a fire to go blazing into the weird places of Juliet."
Peter|GM: "You… just wandered in."
Peter|GM: "…Why should you get chewed up and spat out by monsters while everyone else frolics on like you were never there…?"
Peter|GM: "It'd make me sick."
Mischa nods again. “Thank you, then. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, though. I’m pretty sure I can’t always expect… an angel?… to save me.”
Mischa: “Also, um… chosen for what?”
Peter|GM: "Just once," says the Angel. "My little thread into Hell will snap soon. And, as for that…"
Peter|GM: "…Just chosen. Not for anything in particular. Paint thrown at the wall to see what sticks. The idea is…"
Peter|GM: "The big idea is that if you choose people, show them the wy the world is, open their eyes, they'll just naturally, just naturally, go in, get the treasures, break open the world, and bring down the wall."
Peter|GM: "Would you like to see," asks the Angel. "What they saw?"
Mischa: Would she? Longing makes her hands shake, curls its fist into her stomach, around her heart. “Yes.”
Peter|GM: A million hands reach out from the shell of darkness, reching out towards Mischa's heart but not quite reaching it.
Peter|GM: There is a piercing light, and there is Juliet.
Peter|GM: Understand:
Peter|GM: The Heartbreak City, built on a dozen knots, hiding aspects of itself deep within its own skin to fester.
Peter|GM: It has been December for a very, very, very long time, a weird little thin strand of time, eternally gently snowing,
Peter|GM: Progressing, on and on, without change.
Peter|GM: Feel the stretched thin shell of it, the way it's shoddily painted over its thin frame, unspooling out from this weird little hole all the way out into its massive streets and its bustling neighborhoods.
Peter|GM: It is weird,
Peter|GM: and full of people.
[OOC] Peter|GM: You have received the power of magic and the privilege of a Pure Heart.
Mischa reaches out her hand (the one not holding half of a muffin) as though she could touch the image of Juliet… then curls it into a fist and puts it over her heart, instead. “I didn’t know. Thank you. Can I… ask your name?”
Mischa: “Or do angels not have them?”
Peter|GM: "I am Coinneach, the Unbound, the Lone Silk Strand."
Peter|GM: "Angels," the Angel says, leaving something unsaid. "Have many names."
Mischa: “How many names do you have?”
Peter|GM: A long pause.
Peter|GM: "…Two…"
Mischa nods judiciously. “That counts as a lot, I think.”
Mischa: “I’m gonna go see if I can catch up to the others. But, can I ask one more question?”
Mischa: “Well… maybe two.”
Peter|GM: "Yes."
Mischa: “You said your thread here would snap soon. Where is the other end tied?”
Peter|GM: "It is a strange place, outside the cosmos, hidden in the fractures of the crystal. It is called Sandwich Planet."
Mischa laughs. “For real?”
Mischa: “Okay last question. How did you figure out that you were an angel?”
Peter|GM: "It's said that those with pure hearts can go to a whole new world," says the angel.
Peter|GM: "So I did. And here we are."
Mischa: “Fair enough. Thank you again. For saving me, and for showing me.”
Peter|GM: "You're welcome." And the eyes close again, and there are eight ringing bells, and the chain slowly, slowly descends, lowering you back down to the island below, as the hole of night cracks and seals.
Peter|GM: The chain snaps.
Peter|GM: …This looks like a pretty good weapon.
Mischa wraps it around her wrist and takes it with her as she sets out to find the others. She has some things to say to Tower-Muffin Guy.
Peter|GM: That's right.
Peter|GM: But for now.
Peter|GM: And so it was written.

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