Destination: Carcosa

[polymods]

✖ 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!

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

Comments

Saxsice King | Original Character

[queenking]

i. masquerade | a little party never killed nobody

[The last thing Saxsice remembered was trying to bully/threaten her way onto one of the boats, to little success. Then all of a sudden she's in a ballroom, lounging on a gilded couch and fanning herself with something sparkly and pink. She's also wearing something sparkly and pink, which is absolutely not her normal aesthetic.

She hops up, stumbling a little in the high heels and turning in a dopey little circle as she tries to look down at herself all at once. Once she confirms that things are, indeed, as shiny and pink as she first anticipated, she announces in a way-too-loud voice:] Well, for fuck's sake.

[That's when she notices the mask. It clashes a bit with the whole pink thing, but it's...definitely on the nose. Hilarious.

Saxsice can either be found trying to pry the mask off, sitting in a very unladylike way on the couch and sulking, or leaning over the bar and trying to talk the bartender into letting her take over making drinks, using the argument of:] No, seriously, you've been servin' straight champagne and gin all night -- which is great, don't get me wrong, but you could use some, uh. Variety? Get me?


ii. the play | got me lookin' so crazy right now

I actually came in here to sleep. [Saxsice is offering this to whoever else is stuck in there with her, as she scrambles up onto the stage, forgoing the stairs entirely. Her voice echoes against the cavernous walls, dampened not even remotely by the heavy velvet curtain.

Finally getting up onto the stage, Saxsice rolls to her hands and kneels, then heaves to her feet, brushing herself off -- she's still wearing the masquerade dress, albeit significantly smudged and stained after a night of wandering around. She brushes herself off, then continues:] Used to love sleepin' in movie theaters. All nice and dark and warm and stuff. Didn't realize this was like...a fancy theater til I got in.

[Having noticed the mask by now, she absently reaches out, picking it up and examining it from all sides. At least it isn't another wolf mask, right? Slumping down into the chair and propping her feet on the table, Saxsice turns it over a couple times, before announcing, apropos of nothing:] Y'know, I grew up in a cult.

[...well. She hadn't intended to say that, but now that it's out, she feels. Weirdly better?]


iii. lost carcosa | when i'm no longer young and beautiful

[Out on the lonely, foggy beach, Saxsice lingers longer than she meant to, staring at the skull and absently turning her Scrywatch around and around on her wrist. It glints periodically with a color -- yellow, flashing like a lighthouse in the gloom. She doesn't fully know what the colors mean yet, but the reason for this color fills up her chest, makes it harder and harder to breathe.

It feels like the skull knows. Like the empty eyes and grinning, ancient teeth contain the knowledge of what she did, the mistakes that followed her halfway across the country. A decade of mistakes, crowned with the biggest betrayal of all.]

It wasn't my fault. [Saxsice snaps this suddenly, sharply, either at the skull itself or at someone nearby.] I didn't have a choice. She didn't give me a choice.

ii. The Play

[kyley_b]

"You know there's beds you can sleep in," Kyle points out dryly. Granted, said beds are in the Temples, both of which are creepy in their own way.

He stays in his seat as the young woman clambers up on stage, half amused and half curious about what she's going to do. He sure wasn't expecting such a blunt admission.

"Oh yeah? What kind of cult?"

[queenking]

Saxsice snorts a little at the mention of the beds, looking out at the (mostly) empty seats and making a face. "Yeah, if you wanna get haunted by...monk ghosts or somethin'." It's probably not the sort of temple with monks, but. Nuance.

Then, looking a little alarmed at herself for the sudden confession, she tosses the mask back onto the table. "Uh, not a very interestin' one. Just your basic "us against the world, modern society is full of evils, only trust us" kinda thing. Super basic."

[kyley_b]

"I don't think there's monks," Kyle replies, because he's a pedantic shithead.

His eyebrows both lift up high. "All cults are interesting," he says, leaning forward in his seat. "So it was some kind of fundamentalist Christian sect? I'm not judging you, promise."

[queenking]

"There could be monks," Saxsice retorts right back, because she's definitely not above arguing with a complete stranger. She doesn't even particularly care if there are monks, one way or the other, she just likes to bicker.

Then she grumbles, slouching down further in her chair. "Nah, that'd make too much sense. I mean, there'd be, uh, whatsit -- precedence for that. It was more of a..."preserve the family bloodline above all else, we are the chosen few, we are the blessed". But not by like, God or whoever." She waves a dismissive hand towards the ceiling, adding: "By the moon."

[kyley_b]

"Unlikely." Oh, dear. They both love to fight. This will end well.

Kyle raises his eyebrows. "The moon," he repeats, sounding nonplussed. "The moon as an object or as like, an entity?"

ii.

[unkindled_madness]

Then sleep.

[Sephiroth came here for the same reason, actually, and he doesn't know why she feels the need to announce it to him. He leans back into the seat he's chosen in the back, arms folded, closing his eyes, but she goes on talking. And this theatre has unfortunately good acoustics.

At her last admission, he lets out a sigh and looks back at her across the theatre, his eyes glinting in the low light.]

Is there some reason you're making a total stranger your confidant?

[queenking]

[Saxsice makes a vague sound, shrugging her shoulders and still looking over the mask, tracing the empty edges of the mask with a fingertip. Honestly, she'd been as unnerved by the sudden confession, but is now stubbornly going to pretend she'd made it in her right mind.]

Everyone here's a total stranger to me, mister. [She tosses the mask onto the table, next to her bare, dirty-soled feet.] Gotta start somewhere, don't I?

[unkindled_madness]

[A soft snort at being called "mister." It sounds strange, to be addressed by neither name nor rank.]

And childhood traumas come before introductions, I see.

[He's not sharing his. Childhood traumas, that is. He'll give his name if asked, he's just being a dick.]

[queenking]

Yeah, why not? [She grins, a bright flash of a thing, albeit entirely without humor. Propped up on the table, one foot starts absently rocking back and forth -- perhaps a sign of nerves?] Six of one, half dozen of another. Plus, you think we're goin' anywhere anytime soon?

[unkindled_madness]

I can think of better things to do with my time.

[Like those few hours of sleep he was hoping to catch... Though, he must be tired if he only just thought to wonder: who was it that dimmed the lights anyhow? He's used to a certain degree of automation, but this world seems a little behind.

He gets up from his seat without explanation and approaches the stage. He means to look for a stagehand.]

iii. lost carcosa

[sketchbookings]

[ It turns out, neither of them are quite as alone as they thought they were, because Benedict is also out walking the beach this night. He's not sure why. He's not the sort to stray away from the safety of what he knows (even if he's only known this place for a day or two), but perhaps it's the way everything's overwhelming. He hasn't given himself much opportunity to let it all sink in, and now the stretch of the beach seems like a welcome reprieve.

The salty air is refreshing as he breathes it in, hoping to clear his mind. That's when he hears her.

At first, he's worried he's stumbled upon a private conversation. Not very polite or becoming, to seem as though he's eavesdropping, but he realizes there's only one voice. All the more reason to go, really. Does he want to find himself alone with someone not feeling quite themselves? Not really, but he also can't leave a woman in distress, either, so he exhales through his nose and towards the voice. ]

Are you all right?

[queenking]

Mmng-- [Saxsice is startled by the voice, snapping her attention away from the skull and reaching to press a hand to her forehead. The compulsion to keep talking, to spill out the whole messy story of her life is still there, but now that she isn't looking at the skeleton, it's a little easier to resist.

She peeks out from under her hand at the stranger, offering a wincing sort of smile.] Yeah, I'm...fine. Just arguin' with the locals. [She gestures towards the skull.] I think I'm winnin'.

[sketchbookings]

[ Benedict looks between her and the skull. He can't really judge. It's all very stressful, right? Sometimes stress just manifests strangely in people, so he's going to continue to assume that that's all this is. ]

He doesn't seem to have much to say, does he?

[ The smile Benedict offers is light and easy. ]

[queenking]

[That gets a laugh, a little shaky and uneasy, but the smile is much easier to look at than the creepy, knowing skull. Saxsice even manages to fire back:] Hey, don't undercut my winnin', I never win anythin'. He's just...struck dumb by my wit.

[sketchbookings]

Of course. That absolutely must be it.

[ What? Benedict's not going to not humour a lady, regardless of who the lady might be. ]

This place certainly has a way with bringing up things we'd rather keep unsaid, doesn't it? I feel I'm meant to reveal some secret at every turn.

i. masquerade

[medeiun]

[ The voice of a woman catches Maleficent's attention — not a timid sound, but a purposeful one, argumentative even. She finds herself moving closer before she can think about it (a woman arguing: it alerts her) and like some watchdog she suddenly appears nearby, a sweeping black feathered thing. Maleficent's own attire is a stark contrast to the blonde's pink and cream: her dress, gloves, and mask are all black, as well as the headpiece that covers her hair and horns.

Only it becomes clear after a few seconds of listening further to this exchange that the woman is not in some peril — she's simply asking for something from the bartender. Variety, she says. After a moment, Maleficent flatout interrupts, voice clipped and dry: ]

Perhaps you could convince them to offer something that is actually drinkable.

[ Yes, she is very much judging the alcohol she has not at all tasted for herself. It smells strange and humans made it, so it must be awful, of course. The fairy lifts her chin, taking in the sight of the woman (ignoring the bartender; she doesn't really have any concern for you) — the wolf mask upon her face. Perhaps she should recognise her, and perhaps something up in her does sense the wolf in the woman, but her own powers are hazier here, and for now, the woman only registers as some dimly familiar thing to Maleficent's own ancient spirit. ]

[queenking]

Thank you! [For her part, Saxsice recalls the night out among the sheep very vividly and clearly, her sense memory speaking louder than her mind. She recalls the scent of other, of fields and forests that few mortals have ever set foot upon, of feathers and strong bones. Her sense of smell and hearing is only minutely dampened when in this form, and the scent-and-sound picture of Maleficent is one of the only familiar things she's come across.

So Saxsice is -- very casually familiar, even though there's little to no reason the fae woman would remember her. Blame it on the champagne. She scoots closer, rests a hand on Maleficent's shoulder briefly and leans in to tell the bartender seriously:] See, it's two against one now, and we know what we're talkin' about, buddy.

[The bartender remains unimpressed, and Saxsice shakes her head, clicking her tongue.] Impossible to get good help these days, huh, Mal?

[medeiun]

[ The hand upon her shoulder is met with a shift of her eyes that way, Maleficent unaccustomed to being touched by— well, anyone. Even for Aurora; physical gestures are still quite new between them, shy hugs and brushes of fingers against cheeks. Maleficent is not used to such things.

But she allows it, standing where she is and letting her eyes settle on the bartender that the other woman is addressing. A little gang-up of sorts is happening, and she's quite fine to stand alongside the blonde, assist her on her mission — but then suddenly she says the word Mal, and Maleficent: Mistress of Evil™ looks suitably surprised, her usually cool features shifting into shock.

M a l.

The fey looks completely away from the man again, sharp eyes resting on her present company, the one who has just seemingly given her a petname out of the blue. Surely she misheard, sharp brows lifting. ]

What did you just refer to me as?

[queenking]

[Saxsice has leaned forward, trying to catch the bartender's attention again, since he seems to have moved on to polishing glasses instead of giving them his full attention -- which is rude, he's a very rude little man. She sways forward on her toes, moving her elbow to rest on Maleficent's shoulder for stability.

Then the cool voice comes, directed down at her -- Saxsice is tall, but she doesn't really loom the way the horned woman does. She blinks upwards, eyes wide and guileless behind the mask.]

Mal. Short for Maleficent. Your name's real long, and honestly, kinda confusin'. [Says the person named Saxsice. She reaches up with her free hand, patting the general area of Maleficent's upper arm.] Not a bad thing, it's a very nice name, but gets exhaustin', y'know? "Maleficent" this, "Maleficent" that, soooo many syllables!

[She shakes her head, rocking up and back from heel to toe, shoes clicking on the shiny floor.] "Mal" is much easier. Catchier than "Leffie", which I almost went with, but that sorta sounds like you're about to sneeze.

[medeiun]

[ It isn't entirely surprising that the other woman knows her name; Maleficent certainly has a reputation enough, where she is from. It's perfectly feasible that her name, visage, would be known throughout many kingdoms. To walk down a road would simply instill terror in random villagers. Children whisper her name like a secret, afraid of her from the stories their mothers have read.

....... The woman is draping an elbow on her shoulder and rambling on about the complexity of her name, and the possibility of other nicknames. She is patting her arm.

This is very different. She has no idea what to do, just standing there numbly; she has never been this sort of situation before. Not since— Aurora was only a small thing, reaching out to cling to her dress with an uninhibited closeness. Not knowing to be afraid. Maleficent isn't accustomed to others getting so close to her, especially adult others. Is this woman well? Perhaps she needs a doctor.

Finally, she speaks, tone snappy. ]

I can barely understand half of what you are saying.

[ What accent is that? It's nothing she has ever heard of?? She doesn't care for it. She doesn't care for any of this. ]

ii

[motiontostrike]

It's the pursuit of something a little less jarring that's driven Matt to the theatre as well, though the idea of sleep is the furthest thing from his mind. He's managed to extricate himself from the mask portion of the masquerade, and somewhere between there and here he's shed two layers of wool for the relief of a Wilton-collared shirt in yellow and peach stripes and a set of trousers.

Matt sinks into an antique wooden seat on the front row and folds his cane. Compared to the party, the electric hum emanating from the sconces is a welcome change. He can hear that single heartbeat too, strong and scarcely nervous.

"Sounds like an expensive nap," he notes absently, until his company goes on. "Really? Religious, political...?"

[queenking]

"Gotta find the cheapo theaters," is Saxsice's explanation for her expensive habit. "One of the five-dollar manatees." Not catching her mistake, she moves on, tossing the mask onto the table and reaching forward to rub at her sore feet. She'd ditched the high heels a while ago, but the pain of hours in them still shoots from toe to heel and back again.

The question makes her hesitate, because it's...complex. "Uh, sorta just...moral? Like, "you can only trust the people in this family because the world is wide and full of evil". I guess sorta religious, if you look at it sideways and squint."

[motiontostrike]

"It's a whale of a good time," Matt remarks with a knowing smile. Sooner or later, he's sure that he'll come across someone who carries themselves like they have something to hide. Something more than the secrets they all carry like a weight around their wrists, that is. For the time being, the woman hardly seems suspicious. As weird as their surroundings are, it seems to Matt there's no immediate sense of danger.

"Sort of accurate, too. If you look sideways and squint." He adds the latter part after a beat, like it's meant to sound ironic. "You don't subscribe to their philosophy any more?"

[queenking]

Saxsice squints out into the audience for a moment in confusion -- why's he talking about whales all of a sudden -- but then shrugs, taking her feet off the table and standing again. Part of her wonders why she isn't tired yet, why she's still moving around frenetically, anxiously.

Another part doesn't care, hopping off the stage and coming to sit backwards in the seat in front of him. It's hard to see when he's out in the dim audience, after all. "Nah, I kinda think most people deserve respect and all that, not just people I'm related to." A pause, as she rocks back and forth on the seat, like an anxious child. "Regardless of whether I can trust them or not."