polylogs | Destination: Carcosa

Destination: Carcosa

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.

The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?

If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.

The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.

There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.

Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.

The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.

Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.

All of the attendees are wearing masks.

You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.

Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.

Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.

No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.

Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.

Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.

The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.

The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.

There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?

Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?

Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.

Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.

You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.

There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.

Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.

You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.

It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.

Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!

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It's the stillness that draws Chloe to the same place. That and the hopeful promise of being able to get lost in a play and away from her own thoughts. Not to mention it would be interesting, and potentially useful, to learn more about the culture of the place.

As she enters, she sees a woman heading for the stage. Curious. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for it to be part of the performance but surely there would be more in attendance if this was a scheduled show? But really, why would she think that anything would run as it should?

Hovering in the aisle, she watches as the scene continues to unfold. Glances around her to see if there’s anyone else in any of the seats. Whatever is transpiring, it doesn’t seem to be for the enjoyment of a tangible audience.

Carefully approaching the stage, Chloe sits herself on the edge of it as she doesn’t want to crowd the woman. “Are you alright?” she asks gently.

River blinks, studying her oddly for a moment. Has the Doctor ever asked her that before? Really asked?

"You left me there." She laughs, but there's no real humor behind it. "In a computer. I told you, so long ago now, that you, that wasn't any kind of life. It wasn't a life I would want. And foolishly I thought if you did it anyway, you must be coming back, but that was never the plan, was it?"

Looking over her shoulder, she checks to see if there’s possibly someone else the woman could be addressing, but they still seem to be the only ones there. It doesn’t matter if a complete stranger has taken to the stage to pour their heart out; Chloe is willing to lend a sympathetic ear.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, not trying to figure out what role she might be playing in this scenario, merely giving a heartfelt response to the pain on display. While more could be said, this isn't her space.

And an apology. That is...very unlike the Doctor. It causes River to lose some of her momentum, and she sinks down onto the edge of the stage, herself. She's still keeping her distance, still clearly upset, hurting. But whatever anger she'd been harbouring seems to have flickered out.

"I waited." There's a subtle shake of her head. "I don't even know how long. But you never came. When they called me to help, to save you, I was there, only for you to tell me I should have already been gone."

She stands, reining in her emotions. "It doesn't matter."

For better or worse, this is how their life has always been. The Doctor always thinks they know best, never takes the time to consider how it affects the people closest to them. And River has had quite enough confession time with her husband for one day. Except that when she turns to face her again, it isn't the Doctor at all.

"Oh." And then everything she's just said hits her again like an emotional tidal wave, and with a little more gravity this time, "Oh," followed rather shortly by, "I'm so sorry. I, quite inexplicably, thought you were someone else."

There’s a pang inside her chest, and one of Chloe’s hands reaches out as if she’s going to scoot closer and take the woman’s hand in her own. But her hand comes to stop in mid-air and she remains where she is. After the party, she’s more apprehensive about getting too close to a stranger in emotional turmoil. It’s not so much for herself – it’s more to avoid causing said stranger any more upset.

The words, and the feeling behind them, resonates with her. It sounds like there are differences in the circumstances being described and her own but there’s enough to tug at Chloe. Her gaze doesn’t leave the other, the android’s brows furrowed in recognition of the hurt. And of the dismissal of it.

When the shift happens, Chloe is ready with a small smile. Now the outpouring makes more sense. Well. Insomuch as anything she’s experienced thus far seems to make sense. Anyway. The exact hows and whys don’t immediately matter as much as the person does.

“It’s alright, please don’t worry. You’ve nothing to apologise for.” She pauses, diverting her gaze downwards for a moment before bringing it back to the woman. “We can talk, if you need to? Or just sit. Or I can leave, of course, if you’d prefer to be alone.”

River graces her with a small smile of her own. "That's kind of you."

And though she prefers to keep her emotions, her secrets, to herself, she is grateful for the other woman's show of compassion. It's been quite the day, and she's been wrung out emotionally between not being dead and seeing the Doctor again.

"You see, I shouldn't be here." And she realizes as she says it that none of them should be here, so she clarifies, "I shouldn't be anywhere. I died. Some time ago."

Whatever she thought she might hear, that definitely wasn't it. Death is an elusive concept for her. All things that are alive will one day not be, and she knows this, but she isn't held to the same sort of mortality.

Because she isn't alive.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing she can think of to say, woefully inadequate as it is. Chloe's hands clasp together and rest in her lap to again stop her from reaching out. "Do you..." All of the dozens of questions she could ask feel dreadfully inappropriate.

"If there's a story to be told, I'm happy to listen." It's only an invitation rather than attempting to pry, giving the woman the space to vent or try to make sense of things if she wants to.

The soft laugh that bubbles up out of River, nearly of its own accord, likely isn't the sort of response she's expecting. She sits back down next to the young woman on the stage and her voice is light, despite the pain she's already so clearly put on display. "Oh, there's a story."

It's easier to talk if she isn't looking at her, doesn't consider she's still sharing her story with a stranger, so she looks straight ahead.

"My husband and I were time travellers, never quite meeting in the right order. When I first met him, he'd already known me for years. And the day he met me, as far as he remembers at least, was the last we spent together."

And she knows she can't really blame him, not his younger self. He hadn't known her yet.

"He knew, all the time we were together, and the best solution he could come up with was to download my consciousness into a computer, leave me in a Library. He never even asked. And he couldn't say goodbye."

What was shown on the stage clicks into place and oh. It hits so very close to home. Time travel as a viable concept is pushed aside as her emotional responses continue to be front and centre. Whatever the woman’s words stir up in her can be ignored. it needs to be ignored. It isn’t going to be of use to anyone.

Her gaze drops to her hands. “Maybe he couldn’t bear to let you go.” Her voice is quiet, a little distant.

Quickly, she blinks and looks apologetically to the woman. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t my place to say anything like that.” Demeaning what’s been shared with her or the experience was not on Chloe’s agenda at all. Especially when it had been said that it wasn’t any kind of life she would want. Languishing in a computer, waiting to be uploaded once again…

“You were aware? When you were in the computer, I mean.” The way she describes it makes it sound like more than a means of storage.

River offers a small smile in return. She isn't upset by her words. "No. It's alright." She gives another gentle shake of her head. "You aren't wrong."

But a question has been asked, and she guesses, it isn't an unreasonable one. "Yes. It was like...being in a simulation."

"You're very kind." Chloe figures she's given enough reason for the other to put her in her place. There's a beat or two of silence before she shares something of her own. "I know a man a little like that." Said purely to serve as some sort of explanation for her remarks, not to steer the conversation away from the woman's story.

"But it was safe?" she ventures. "I mean... There's a difference between being alive in some form and living but... You were safe?" A tight lipped smile follows soon after. "Please tell me if I'm prying too much."

"Was he kind, this man?" River asks, because she doesn't want to disregard her understanding. The Doctor isn't unkind, perhaps selfish, but not unkind. And River knows that.

"It's fine, sweetie," she says gently, and she finds that she means it. "Yes. I was safe."

River smiles, though it's faint and doesn't quite reach her eyes. "He left me in a library, with every book ever written. I guess he expected that would be enough. He was young then."

"Yes. Of course. He's a brilliant man." Which isn't exactly the question that was asked but Chloe feels the need to make the point anyway. It's a line that's been said many, many times before, and perhaps acts as a way of self-soothing.

The diminutive reminds her that for all the soul-bearing, she hasn't actually given the woman her name. Or asked for hers - that's far more remiss. "Chloe. I'm Chloe. And you?" But then she quickly adds, "Not that I mind being called sweetie." In case her dropping her name at that moment may come across as snarky.

Ah. The hubris of youth. Another little parallel that pokes at Chloe in all the wrong places. "Do you hope that you'll be able to meet him again now? In the right order?"

River makes note of the way the young woman says the words that don't actually answer the question she's asked. There's something about it that resonates with her, and she feels a slight ache in her chest.

"It's nice to meet you, Chloe. I'm River." The girl, Chloe, is sweet, and River can't help but like her.

She takes a breath, nodding. "I already have, actually. She's here."

"It's a beautiful name," she comments softly. "And it's very lovely to meet you, River. Thank you for sharing your story." Something that is often not easy to do, and so Chloe gives her a warm, gentle smile.

Slightly taken aback, at first she just murmurs, "Oh." For a second she looks around them, as if the man she herself has spoken about may suddenly appear out of nowhere. What a surprise that would be. And yet also not.

Her attention quickly returns to River to carefully ask, "How was it?"

"Thank you. I've always liked it," River says lightly, noting Chloe's reaction at her admission that the Doctor is here and that she's seen her already. "And you're welcome."

But to answer her question...River sighs. "It was...complicated." She offers a small smile. "It always is with us. She's gone blonde again. I sort of miss the gray hair, but you mustn't tell her."

She shrugs. "She's gorgeous. Hopeful. The person I married."

And maybe she's still trying to decide if that's more or less of a problem than it was before The Library.

"Oh, no, of course I won't tell," Chloe readily agrees with a little smile of her own, conspiratorial yet gentle.

Then there's the more serious reaction. Watching River, she's clearly attentive without undue staring. Not for the first time in their conversation, she could almost echo what's said herself. It makes her want to take another futile glance around the theatre, but she doesn't.

"Maybe that could be a reason why you're both here. Another chance..." she ventures. "I hope that's not a suggestion too far but... It seems like quite the coincidence for you both to find yourselves here." Not that she has any real clue how 'here' works or why, or what it might want.

River doesn't have any clearer answer to why they're here than Chloe. Personal growth? Apparently? As far as she's seen, it seems the purpose has simply been to make a spectacle of personal heartaches.

She isn't offended by the suggestion, though. And certainly not when it's being offered by someone who's only been gentle and kind.

"You may have a point. The Doctor doesn't really believe in coincidence. Neither do I." And she has missed him. Her. "I still love her," she admits, "I always will. No matter what she's done or how long it's been."

She smiles, and it's a soft smile. "But she does have a few things to make up for."

Readily swept away by grand notions of romance, it's easy to think of two lovers being brought back together. It's certainly far, far better than many of the alternatives. And from what River has told her thus far, Chloe easily determines that she is very much deserving of such a second chance.

Not that others would be less deserving. Maybe it's those echoes of herself she can see that make Chloe especially moved.

Echoes that only keep coming. "I know how it feels. I mean, not exactly, since it's different for everyone but... I know what it's like to love someone that way." Chloe can tell herself these things are said just for the sake of shared experience but, somewhere deep down, there's a want to talk.

But she's used to squashing it down.

"Maybe there will be fabulous things on the island to discover together," she offers hopefully, smiling away. "I'm sure she would like to make things up to you. And if anyone needs any help in planning beautiful romantic surprises, I would gladly offer my services." It might come across as too casual considering the gravity of their discussion so far but it is earnest, at least.

She chuckles, but not at Chloe's expense. "Love is, isn't it? As unique as the individuals experiencing it." And her love story with the Doctor has been...quite the tale, full of adventure and heartbreak and a great deal of running, possibly an explosion or two.

The offer causes her to laugh again, loudly, but it's full of mirth. "Oh, sweetie, I'm excellent at, well, most things, but she'll need all the help she can get. The Doctor is wonderful at so many things, but romance is definitely not one of them."

River doesn't add how much she'd love to be witness when Chloe makes the same offer to her wife.

"What about your great love, then?" she finally asks, once she's gathered herself, her voice gentle, "You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not."

Where River chuckles, Chloe looks quite serious indeed. "Yes. It is unique. I doubt two loves are ever truly the same." And if that's the case, who is to say what she's experienced isn't love? Plenty might claim so for a whole host of reasons but really, what does anyone know of a very private man and the private life she shares with him?

The seriousness remains, though tempered with some good cheer and keenness. "I think it would be just lovely to offer that help. Assuming such help would be wanted, of course." Chloe certainly wouldn't force said help upon anyone. Just some gentle nudging and quiet encouragement, perhaps.

Ah. Now that's a question. The first thing that comes to mind is how that great love wouldn't much appreciate her saying much at all. Only he isn't here. And there's every possibly that the name Elijah Kamski doesn't mean anything to anyone she meets here.

"He's... Well... He's a genius. Which I mean very literally. The Man of the Century, they call him." A little smile crosses her lips, one of a fondness and a pride that alway remain. "One of the greatest scientific minds there has ever been and ever will be." All objective facts that it doesn't hurt to share.

"Darling, I think she would love your help," River murmurs, smiling, "If someone made her aware she was in need of it."

The Doctor is wonderful, brilliant. She can be absolutely terrifying but also kind and gentle. She's full of so much love and cares so deeply. But if that woman isn't clueless. It's fine. River knows who she married. She'd known when she married him. And she's never loved them any less for it. But sometimes, she does wish they were a little more aware of how they affected the people closest to them.

River smiles back at her. She knows what it's like, loving a mind like that, but she won't pretend to know Chloe's relationship. Especially when she's noticing how very good she is at talking about his merits, but nothing about what they are to each other. "He sounds wonderful. You care about him?"

"Excellent. I'll be sure to offer whatever I can. And please don't worry, I'll be sure to be tactful about it." River's spouse requiring some assistance on the romantic front isn't something to be pointed out as though it's a flaw. It would hardly set the right tone.

"Yes. Very much." As her caring for him is also an objective fact. Something the man in question brought into existence by his own hands. "It's like... its own gravity." Which may also be closer to fact that waxing poetic. That pull to him is at the very core of her being, for better and for worse. "It is such a powerful force, isn't it? Love."

River nearly laughs. If only Chloe realized how direct she'd likely need to be with her dear wife. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, sweetie."

It's...interesting, the way Chloe talks about this man, the one she loves. Somehow it strikes River as, well, not quite healthy. Perhaps not even quite love. Devotion, certainly. But also, something in the way she talks about him resonates with her, feels so...familiar. After all, couldn't she say the same about her feelings for the Doctor. Sometimes it seems as though the Doctor's a sun and she's caught up in her wake.

"Yes," she agrees, finally, "it is."

"I'm sure I'll be able to find the right approach," she decides with a smile. That is something she's meant to be good at - adjusting her communication style and behaviour to best suit the person she's interacting with to achieve optimal outcomes and results.

Whether it's the perceived pause before River speaks or something within Chloe herself, the android feels she's said too much. Lulled in by talk of love and a sense of connection to this person she's just met, she let too many things get far too close to the surface.

"I'm sorry, sometimes I let my imagination run away with me," she says dismissively. "Silly ideas. Don't mind me."

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Destination: Carcosa

03. The Play

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